


The Hornets Nest

by BlueFireRedIce



Series: The Book of Bravo [4]
Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Call of Duty inspired, Gun Fight, Hurt Brock Reynolds, Hurt Clay Spenser, Medal of Honor Inspired, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, multiple threats of backpack leashes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26493736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFireRedIce/pseuds/BlueFireRedIce
Summary: It was supposed to be simple. Get in, grab the man suspected of supplying the explosives to the Tenerife bombers, get answers, get out again. But they weren’t expecting their HVT to have an armed force at his disposal, nor were they expecting to have to fight for their lives while trying to get to their exfil.They certainly weren’t expecting to leave two of their team behind, but they were forced to – and now their two brothers have to fight for their lives in one of the most hostile places on earth until they can be rescued.
Series: The Book of Bravo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915066
Comments: 149
Kudos: 153





	1. Left Behind

**A/N: Hello all! Well look at that, I managed to get the first chapter posted after all! For those of you who are new to the series, you don't necessarily have to have read the previous installments, but they're definitely helpful for the backstory! Updates will hopefully be weekly, but I'm travelling atm so it might not be the case for the next chapter, but I'll do my best to have chapter 2 ready for next Wednesday :D**

**A bit of a FYI for this, this story was inspired by Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 and the 2010 Medal of Honor video games - both of which I utterly adore for their story lines. If you're interested in the part that inspired this chapter, you can watch it[here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6QpR3DZqtz8&ab_channel=CallOfDutyInsanity) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXoA71O2mYg&ab_channel=HardcoreGamersUnified) (9:50-11:20). As we go along, I'll attach links to the game sections so if you want to watch them and imagine the team in the situation (a rare chance to do so for any story unless they actually film it!) you can do so. A lot of the games dialogue will also be used (if it ain't broke...) but there'll be a lot of original stuff as well. Basically, the games have heavily influenced this, and I'd like to pay homage to them, plus introduce those who've never heard of them/played them to some amazing games, and game movies!**

**As usual, come screech at me in the comments, I love hearing what you guys think!**

* * *

“Let’s go, let’s go!”

Jason boosted himself onto a small ledge before climbing onto the rooftop, ears pricked to the sounds of his brothers following close on his heels. Guns were slung over shoulders or held close to the chest, boots thundered over the tin and iron sheets that made up the majority of the roofs in the Favela as Bravo bolted to safety.

Once again, a mission that should’ve been relatively straight forward had dissolved into utter chaos – and it was one that they were now trying to get out of without being killed. Yelling and gunfire echoed all around them, tangos spilled out onto walkways and from doorways… quite frankly, it seemed like every person that lived in this godforsaken shanty town was currently chasing after them.

_“My friend, from up here it looks like the whole village is trying to kill you.”_

He growled under his breath, jumping a small gap between buildings and glared at the helicopter that was circling overhead, dodging the RPG’s barraging it as its pilot tried to find somewhere to set down so they could board. “Real helpful Snow,” he snapped. “Just get ready to pick us up!”

“We’re running outta rooftop!”

“We can make it!” he yelled back. The helicopter settled on a building opposite them, and he could see the logic in Snow’s choice; while the Pave Low was on a roof higher than the one they were running across, there was a building directly in front of it that was lower – and it was that one they’d be jumping to. There was a ladder attached to the side, which meant that once they were across it was a simple matter of scrambling up it and into the bird.

A nearby wall exploded, courtesy of a poorly aimed RPG, and he winced as debris flew at them – nudged Sonny when a flying chunk of concrete made him stumble. “GO GO GO!”

One by one, they threw themselves off the rooftop; Ray, then Sonny, then Trent, then himself – Clay and Brock a few feet behind and bringing up the rear. He landed on the lower building and did a roll to lessen the impact, swinging himself and his gun around to cover his two brothers who were about to make the jump. Movement caught his eye just as they pushed off, and he dove sideways while roaring: “RPG!”

He should’ve known. _He should have known._ If anyone was going to find trouble on this mission, _of course_ it would be Brock and Clay.

The grenade slammed into a building on their left, the blast knocking the pair off balance so much that they came up short - hitting the edge of the roof hard and clinging to a barely attached sheet of corrugated iron; their expressions a mix of shock and pain, and nearly identical. He and Ray dove forward at the same time, fingers brushing gloves as the sheet broke away under their weight and Bravo’s two youngest members disappeared over the edge with a startled yell.

“Fuck!”

“Ray don’t!” he barked, scrambling to his feet when bullets rained down around them. “Get to the bird!”

“But Jase -”

“MOVE!” The attention, for the time being was on the people scrambling for the helicopter, not the pair somewhere on the ground below. For the time being, their brothers were safe. Practically treading on Trent’s heels he activated his radio; once the rest of Bravo were on board the chopper, it was only a matter of time before Bravo 5 and 6 were found. “Brock! Clay! You copy?”

Static crackled, but neither man answered. Growling, he covered the remainder of his team as they climbed the short distance to the chopper and tried again; the silence meant they could be unconscious – something they couldn’t afford to be right now, so he needed to rouse them if they were. “Brock! Clay! Wake up!”

With the other three now above him, he scrambled up the ladder and dove into the bowels of the Pave Low, already turning on his heel the moment he’d gotten to safety. Trent and Ray were gathered at the edge, firing at the militia who were still taking pot-shots at the chopper, and they all clung to the machine as it lifted into the air.

“C’mon goldilocks, do you copy!” Sonny growled into the comms, peering out one of the windows. “Broccoli, you hear me?”

 _“Bravo_ … _Bravo 5 receiving!”_

“Brock!” Sonny yelled back, the relief ringing clear in his voice. “We can see them from the chopper! They’re coming for you, dozens of ‘em!”

“Brock!” He cut in, stress skyrocketing at the sheer number of hostiles he could now see below. Snow had climbed high enough for them to see Brock dragging Clay upright, and the large number of militia flanking them. Christ knew how the boys were going to make it out of there alive. “There’s too many of them! Get the hell out of there and find a way to the rooftops! Move!”

The pair bolted towards the building, and disappeared from view. “Get us higher!” he yelled over his shoulder. The chopper lifted immediately, and his heart dropped at the sheer number of men he could see swarming the area. “Boys, we’re circling but I can’t see you! You’ve got to get to the rooftops!”

Bullets peppered the Pave Low, RPGs whizzed past at an alarming rate – and still he couldn’t see his brothers. He and Ray were looking through the windows on the left, and Sonny and Trent on the right.

“Does anyone have a visual?!” Trent yelled. “These guys are coming outta the woodwork!”

“Negative! Where the bloody hell are they?!” Sonny snarled, before smacking a fist against the fuselage and adding: “It _had_ to be them.”

A door burst open, and Jason exhaled in relief at the sight of his two brothers sprinting across a balcony. “Clay! Brock! I see you! Jump down to the rooftops and meet us south of your position! Go!”

“We’re about to hit bingo fuel!” Ronnie yelled over her shoulder. “They’ve got thirty seconds!”

 _Fuck_. “Boys! We’re running on fumes here! You got thirty seconds! Run!” Trent and Sonny had joined them, and they watched as Brock and Clay sprinted across the rooftops – leaping and clearing gaps between the buildings like they didn’t exist. Considering what both his brothers had been through over the last couple of years - Clay’s injury from Manila, and Brock’s multiple injuries from Tenerife seven months ago – it never ceased to amaze him just how well they’d bounced back. “Left! Turn left and jump down!”

“Come on!” Ray added. Clay and Brock leaped off a balcony and slid down a large slanted roof, disappearing inside the building it led to. They were at the edge of the Favela now; the town surrounded by mountains and valleys and overlooking Rio in the far distance. Hovering over such an open space meant that the chopper couldn’t be ambushed on the other side, so they could focus solely on what was happening in front of them.

Once the helo repositioned, Trent pulled the door open and tossed down the rope ladder – it was going to be a hot exfil for the pair, and they needed to know what they were aiming for. The Pave Low hovered parallel to the balcony, and as a group they watched. They waited.

“Twenty seconds!” Snow yelled, and Jason thought he may have stopped breathing. Twenty seconds was nothing in a hostile environment - if the house was a rabbit warren, there was no way they’d make it out in time.

There was more movement, and he could now see the pair racing towards them - faces set in determination as they covered the last few feet to the Pave Low. He joined Trent at the door so he could help pull the pair into the hold – watched as Brock dropped back so Clay could go first. “Jump for it!”

“RPG!”

The Pave Low listed violently to the right, and it was quick reflexes on Brock’s part that stopped Clay from jumping and plummeting to his death in the valley below.

“We’re hit!” Snow yelled, fighting to control her machine. “Hang on boys; this won’t be pretty!” Then, much to his horror, she started heading back to Rio.

“Snow! We have two friendlies on the ground!”

“Damn it!” The chopper swung around again, and as it did so Jason knew he wasn’t the only one who could feel the new vibrations in the machine. They’d taken damage near the rotors; he just prayed it wasn’t so much that they’d go down in a ball of flames with little warning. “Hang on!”

 _“1, 6_ – _what’s the go?”_

“Take cover 6; repositioning for pick up!”

_“Rog!”_

The Pave Low swung around, and as it did so he lost sight of his brothers. Ray and Trent cursed loudly, and he uttered his own when he spotted the militia swarming from what seemed to be every nook and cranny of the area and coming towards the two grounded SEALs. Brock and Clay had taken shelter behind a low wall and were barely holding them off; for every man that dropped two more took their place.

_“Jase we could use a hand thinning these guys out!”_

“Already on it Brock!”

A quick glance over his shoulder showed Sonny and Ray clipped in at the rear and leaning outside the helo; sending a steady stream of bullets into the assholes trying to kill their teammates.

“Alright get ready!” Snow yelled over her shoulder. “We’ve got one shot; we’re officially at bingo and if we take another hit, we’re done for!”

He nodded and activated his radio, crouching at the top of the ladder ready to pull the boy’s in. “Brock! Clay! It’s now or never!”

_“Copy!”_

Despite thinking they’d make it – that Ray and Sonny would be able to keep the militia occupied long enough for the boys to make the jump… well.

He should have known. _He should have known._

Clay was the first to turn, first to prepare for the jump – but then the kid saw the RPG fire the same time he did; aborted his leap to take out the gunman instead.

“RPG!” he roared, but his warning was drowned out by the chopper’s screaming alarms and the startled yelling of SEALs as the machine started shuddering violently. “What are you doing?!” he demanded when the chopper dropped into a rapid descent, away from their boys on the ground. “We leave them there, they’re dead!”

“We go back for them, we’re all dead!” Snow yelled back, fighting for control of her bird. “We’re losing altitude – shit, hydraulics are nearly gone, fuel… this ain’t gunna be pretty lads, hang on!”

“Fuck!” He looked back out the door, felt his heart drop when Brock and Clay were nowhere to be – wait, there they were; they were sprinting across the rooftops away from them, the militia hot on their heels. “Brock! Clay! Find a rally point; we’re coming back for you!”

 _“Copy that!”_ Clay replied, and despite the fact he was moving at a dead sprint he barely sounded winded, the little shit. _“We’re moving up; we’ll maintain radio contact!”_

Through the open door he watched the Favela get further away – fell onto his ass and dropped his head into his hands. For the first time in his career, he’d been forced to deliberately abandon men in a hostile environment; men who had minimal supplies and an army on their heels. Each of his brothers were trained to survive for days on end on scraps of food and supplies, and could do so easily, and without question.

He should’ve known the mission would be a cluster-fuck, that something would go wrong for someone – the force they’d come up against far larger than they’d expected, and he should’ve dealt with it accordingly when he could do so.

He. Should. Have. Known. But for the love of God, why did it haveto be them?


	2. Welcome Home Brother

**A/N: Hello all! Glad to see you enjoyed the first chapter! This chapter should be the only 'non-action' one, so we're just covering a few important things (for you, as well as the boys) before we dive straight back into the chaos. And ohhhh is there a lot planned, so enjoy the breather while you have it! For anyone who may not remember her - considering she was a brief mention - Roxy was introduced in the first chapter of Suffering in Silence. She gets more attention here, and will be important for the big Seal Team fic I have planned. I underlined big because I apparently have to make mini-novels of all my stories - but that one will certainly be the biggest! **

**So. Sit back, enjoy the relaxedness that is this chapter in all it's 'before-ness' for the boys before I throw you back into the action!**

**A special shoutout to[ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [MeldirielErulisse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeldirielErulisse), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [Idk34](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idk34), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [Bball25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bball25), [argallel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argallel), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [summeronice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summeronice), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [hayes14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayes14), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [AeroWright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroWright), and [strandedchesspiece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece) as well as the 21 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

**As usual, come screech at me in the comments! :D**

* * *

**_72 hours earlier – Virginia Naval Base_ **

“You ready?” 

Brock looked at Trent, found his best friend smiling at him, and he couldn’t help but grin in return. “Damn straight I am.”

Trent nodded once and pushed the door to the cage room open, and no sooner was Brock inside than he was pulled into the mob of cheering brothers; his head patted and hair tousled by everyone there. Cerberus’ leash slipped from his hand, so the Malagator raced around the pile of SEALs barking happily at all the excitement.

“Welcome back brother,” Ray crowed from somewhere next to him. With everyone on him, Brock could barely see who was where. “It’s damn good to see you!”

“You’ve seen me nearly every day,” he laughed, carefully extracting himself so he could look at them all. “It’s not like we’ve been apart for months or something.”

“Yeah but it’s your first day back after seven months,” Jason replied, slinging an arm around his shoulders and ruffling his hair. “That deserves a celebration!”

“That it does.” Brock turned, and grinned at the sight of Lisa and Blackburn standing in the doorway. Lisa came over and wrapped him in a tight hug, which he returned just as strongly. Despite the fact he’d seen them all on a regular basis during his medical leave, there was something… different, he supposed, about seeing them all together now that he’d finally been cleared to return.

“Hey stranger, welcome home,” Lisa said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “We’ve missed you.”

“Secretly you just missed Cerb,” he replied, laughing off his embarrassment at the comment and affection. “You just have to say that to cover your bases.”

Lisa gave him a look and swatted his arm. “Oh we missed him too, but we’ve missed you just as much. Nice try though.”

Blackburn nudged Lisa to the side and clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome back,” his CO said, smiling widely. “I’ve finally back got the one person who can talk some sense into these idiots.”

He snorted when the others started protesting loudly, but that was interrupted by a knock on the door. As a group they turned, and found an apologetic looking Mandy standing there with a file in her hand. Evidently his down time on base was going to be short-lived.

“Welcome back Brock,” she said, giving him a brief smile before focusing on them all. “I hate to break up the celebrations early, but I need you all for a briefing ASAP.” And just like that, she was gone again.

They all looked at each other and shrugged. Where the others looked a bit put out by the summons, he couldn’t deny the swell of excitement that filled him at the chance to get back out in the field. And based on Mandy’s expression, it wasn’t going to be a simple excursion, either. Not that Bravo’s spin-up’s were ever simple, come to think of it, but as far as he was concerned - the more complicated the better.

“Well that don’t sound too good,” Sonny grumbled, voicing what the others were likely thinking. “Come on lads, let’s go see what the spooks have for us today. Who wants to put money down for a lost nuke or somethin’?”

While the others started speculating about what they’d be walking into, he called Cerb back to him and unclipped the leash before setting it on the table so his boy could walk around unhindered. “Come on bud,” he said, motioning to the door and the Malagator barked once before trotting ahead, leading the way from the room. Jason kept his arm around his shoulder, even going through the doorway, and stayed that way as they headed down the corridor.

After passing a third group that took particular interest in him, he gave up pretending he hadn’t noticed the stares and looked at his boss, exasperated. “Jase, c’mon,” he said, not above begging if it meant he stopped drawing attention. The Great Jason Hayes casually hugging one of his men? Yeah, that wasn’t exactly a common sight, so it was no wonder they were getting weird looks. “I’m not going to disappear if you remove your arm.”

“It’s this or a backpack leash,” Jason said casually, glancing away from his phone and sniggering at the look of horror Brock knew was probably on his face. “I did tell you I would get you one.”

“Oh c’mon!” he whined, grumbling under his breath when Jason tugged his ear. “You can’t be serious about that! Besides, where exactly am I going to go? It’s not like you can lose me in the corridor for crying out loud!”

“Says the man whose last location before boarding that plane was this corridor,” Ray countered, looking over his shoulder at him. “Sorry Brock, but it was a unanimous decision that you aren’t allowed to be by yourself for the next few months until we’re satisfied you can stay out of trouble.”

“So best to suck it up and deal with it,” Trent added, looking smug despite the glare Brock was giving him. “That’s right sunshine, you’re grounded.”

“I’m a grown man!” he protested, and he went so far as to growl irritably when the others just laughed. “Man, to hell with y’all!”

“And actually, the decision was _not_ unanimous,” Clay piped up, nodding when he looked at his brother hopefully while the blond glared at the others. “I for one disagreed with this whole thing. Brock has nine lives as proven time and time again. There’s no need for a babysitter.”

“You didn’t get a vote because you’re just as bad bam-bam,” Sonny drawled, high-fiving Ray when he held up his hand. “‘sides, you’re being watched too.”

“I wasn’t kidding about backpack leashes,” Jason added. “Lisa’s already got two for me that I _will_ use if required, don’t think I won’t.”

“I do,” Lisa added. “They’re even colour coordinated.”

“Well that’s absolute bullshit,” he muttered grumpily, glaring at them all. Except for Clay – Clay was now apparently his brother in arms in his weird-ass adult grounding by his boss. As soon as he and Clay were alone, he had every intention of planning his revenge for being locked down, and he’d make sure they all hated every second of it, the pricks.

“Total bullshit,” Clay agreed, just as grumpy, bumping his fist against the one Brock held out in commiseration.

One Malagator, two pouting and four laughing SEALs entered the Ops room, and with the usual ribbing of each other that preluded a briefing – that today was unfairly focused on the two youngest - they dropped into their seats.

From his spot, Brock looked down the table and felt a weird swell of nostalgia at being in a briefing with his team, his _brothers,_ once again. Seven months was a long time to be out of commission, but as Doc, Danny, his team, his therapist, his parents… everyone he’d talked to over that time had repeatedly reminded him, his recovery wasn’t going to be an overnight thing – that he had to be patient and allow his body the time it needed to heal.

Physically, he’d healed completely by month four, but then he’d needed an additional twelve weeks to rebuild his strength and stamina; both having severely diminished during his recovery. He’d trained daily at the gym; either with one of his brothers, or with a PT. Sometimes both, and sometimes alone. Two hours a day – one for cardio, one for weights became a ritual for him; a chance to take stock of his body, check how it felt and address any issues with his trainer and rehab coach so they could work on fixing them.

Then, when he wasn’t training himself he was training Cerberus. Or he was helping at the dog training school while Clay took the Malagator for a run. Or he was looking after Jameelah and RJ, and so on. He’d kept busy, tested his body and his mind in all sorts of environments and scenarios and was more than pleased with the results. Doc was too, which is why the man had been positively gleeful when he signed the paperwork clearing him to return two days ago.

Which he then followed up with a clap on the back and an overly generous serve of whiskey on both their parts. It had been a good afternoon, that was for sure.

“Reynolds, glad to have you back with us.”

He nodded at Lindell when the Captain walked past the table to the front of the room. His presence meant that whatever their mission was, it was serious. “Thank you sir.”

Lindell nodded back, his lips quirking minutely before turning to their resident spook. “Miss Ellis, if you would?”

Mandy pressed a button on her remote, and Brock froze when images of Tenerife popped up. She looked at him apologetically, so he waved a hand for her to continue. “Normally I would agree that putting these before you all the day Brock returned is in poor taste, but for his first mission back it’s rather fitting. We finally have a lead on the people responsible for Tenerife.”

The attention in the room, while already focused on her, became laser-like. The lack of actionable intel had been a sore spot for the teams since the bombing, everyone wanting to bring the people responsible for the attack to justice, but unable to do so. Whoever the mastermind was, they’d vanished into thin air – multiple intelligence agencies chasing ghosts or false leads and getting no closer to finding them. To have something now was a major breakthrough.

“You found them?” he asked, stunned, only to sag slightly in disappointment when she shook her head.

“Not yet,” she replied. Pressing another button, a picture of a man appeared. Middle aged, bald and his tanned skin covered in tattoos, he looked like your typical trouble maker that hailed from somewhere in South America – knowing his luck, the guy would probably be from Venezuela. Ugh, _please_ don’t let him be from Venezuela; he’d had enough of their bullshit, and Jason would throw a fit if they had to go back there.

A quick glance at his MC and yep, he looked like he’d sucked a lemon.

“We have, however, found the man who supplied the attack,” she continued, smirking when they all sat up a bit, and folded her arms over her chest. “While we’re still trying to identify the people responsible, it’s become clear that they’ve demanded silence from their followers to ensure they stay hidden. Fortunately for us, it seems that our friend here didn’t get the message, or just doesn’t care. If there’s one thing I can always rely on, it’s that arrogance makes people cocky; turns them into a beacon for those who know what to look for.”

“How bright is he, exactly?” Sonny asked around his toothpick while staring intently at the screen.

Mandy’s smile was shark-like. “Burning. While he hasn’t named Tenerife specifically, there hasn’t been an attack of that size anywhere else in the world for years. Either he’s not as smart as he thinks he is, or he thinks he’s safe enough to brag without repercussions. Either way, it’s led us straight to him.”

“How do we know this isn’t some wannabe cashing in on the real terrorists silence?” Lisa asked. She and Blackburn were also seated at the table, and looked just as interested in the developments as the rest of them. “As long as you know what you’re doing with bombs, claiming responsibility for providing the arsenal is a good way to get yourself noticed.”

“We asked the same questions when we started looking into him.” She moved to the computer and pulled up an audio file for them to listen to. “This was captured by one of our agents in Rio three days ago; he’s currently working undercover in a drug ring, and was wired to capture the exchange between his boss and a member of another cartel. He’d gone in to scope the restaurant ahead of the meeting, and while he was focused on his mission at the time his microphone picked up the conversation from a nearby table. He only realised what he had when he listened to and enhanced the audio later on. Luckily for us, it’s in English – the neighbourhood where the exchange took place is relatively poor, and the residents don’t know how to speak it which meant it was safer to use than Portuguese.” With that, she hit play.

_“You said you had proof that you know what you’re doing. So, prove to me you know your fireworks. I’m not messing around with these guys, amigo – I need enough to permanently entertain them.”_

_“What would you say if I told you I’m the one who supplied the fireworks to that little accident overseas near the start of the year? You saw the size of the display, yes?”_

_“I’d say you’re dreaming, you crazy bastard. No way were you involved in that from here.”_

_“The people responsible are overseas, yes – but what better way to cover the tracks of where you live than to outsource? You know I’m right. I’m not telling you to believe me, that’s your choice; but let me put it this way – if I could entertain hundreds of people with several platters of bangers and mash, I can help you entertain your friends. Permanently.”_

_“Alright -”_

Mandy paused the clip, and Brock felt bile rise in his throat. The way this guy spoke so casually about the attack – _entertaining_ people, suppling _fireworks_ – as though it was some sort of Guy Fawkes display… it made his blood boil and his stomach turn. This wasn’t someone seeking to claim fame from such an attack, because an imposter wouldn’t have been able to lie through his teeth so smoothly. But this guy… this guy spoke as though he were talking about the weather. And if the man had gained the attention of the CIA… well. Then there was no doubt in his mind that he was the real deal.

And there was no doubt in his mind that he’d pay.

“The code words he used have all be verified,” Mandy said quietly, and Brock looked up to find her looking at him. In fact they were all looking at him, their expressions a mix of wariness and concern. “The media was never told about what was used in the attack, and the only people who survived the blast, as you know, were our people. There’s no way he could’ve known C4 was used unless he was directly involved in some way.”

He nodded, working his jaw until he could ensure he wouldn’t erupt in anger. “What’s his name?”

“Alejandro Rojas,” she replied. “Also known as Alex the Red. We’re still building a full profile on him – but from what we do know, his bank records are clean, so he’s evidently got a dummy account somewhere to help cover his tracks. We managed to get his phone history that helped us track him to a warehouse multiple times in the months prior - crossing that information with cameras in the area, we confirmed several trucks left for the port about a month before the attack. We suspect that’s when he sent the order overseas.”

“Any chance you were able to track where it ended up?” Blackburn asked, his voice hard. Brock glanced at his CO and saw his expression matched his tone. “Considering Tenerife is so small, I’d be surprised if a shipment of that size arrived unnoticed.”

“We’re still working on that, but we believe it went somewhere in Eastern Europe – but we don’t have anything definitive yet.”

“What’s the plan?” While the question was directed at Mandy, when Brock looked at Jason he found his brother staring at him intently. “I’m guessing you know where he is.”

Another click of a button, and a map of Brazil appeared, with Rio highlighted. “We’ve tracked him to a neighbourhood on the outskirts of the Favela – according to our agent he’s in the area for a meeting in three days’ time. You’re going to go pick him up and question him.”

“You don’t want him brought in for interrogation?” Clay asked, sounding confused. “I woulda thought you’d love to have a go at him.”

Rather than answer, Mandy looked to Lindell – and much to their surprise, he joined her at the front of the room.

“Due to the nature of this op, you cannot be linked to America or any foreign power in any way. You’ll be going in posing as a wronged cartel, which means there’ll be no backup, and very limited help from your support team. This mission is, for lack of a better term, an unsanctioned one. You go in, you’ll be on your own.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Trent asked. “What has the Brass so spooked?”

“We don’t want to tip anyone off that we’re onto them,” Mandy replied. “We don’t know whose calling the shots, or whether he’s being watched – although we’re dubious that’s the case because if he was, he’d probably be dead already. We can’t risk sending them deeper underground.”

Jason nodded. “That’s fair. Rules of engagement?”

“I’ve spoken to a contact within the Brazilian Police and asked her what the situation was in the Favela,” Mandy said, and another click pulled up a map of the area she was referring too. “She said it’s dissolved into utter chaos there – that the cartels run rampant, and that the police and any civilians not involved with them left a few months ago during the most recent turf war.”

“If you go in there, which will undoubtedly happen, you do whatever you have too to get out again,” Lindell added. “Law enforcement won’t interfere, but they won’t come to your assistance, either. The Brazilian Government has essentially classed the Favela as its own territory separate from their jurisdiction, and from the intel Miss Ellis has provided we believe Rojas has a group of men at his disposal – so you can expect some resistance when you grab him.”

“Get in, get the info we want, take out whoever gets in our way, get out again,” Sonny summarised. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You have two hours till you’re wheels up,” Lindell said. “One of Miss Ellis’ colleagues will collect you from the airport and will drive you to the safe house he’s setting up. We’re currently arranging for an extraction pilot who will accompany you – I won’t be sending any of your usual crew for obvious reasons, however after notifying the SAS of the recent developments they’ve provided us with a list of people they know are in the area with helicopters at their disposal. There’ll be an unmarked jet carrying you in to ensure your arrival goes unnoticed. Dismissed.”

Brock pushed out of his seat and made a beeline for the door. If his brothers called out to him, he didn’t hear them. He just… needed to be alone. Needed to clear his head and settle his thoughts.

Knowing Cerberus would be looked after, he didn’t call the Malagator to him as he hurried off – his mind focused on one goal; his car. No one stopped him, no one tried to intercept him – which meant that he reached it quickly, and after a brief deliberation turned it on and raced out of the carpark to the exit.

He needed space, and actually leaving the base meant he’d get that. He needed time to think.

* * *

He pulled into the carpark that overlooked the marina – the sight of the ocean, the smell of the sea and the cry of the gulls helping relax him.

Interestingly, his phone hadn’t yet pinged with a message from any of his brothers, but he suspected it was only a matter of time before he was barraged with something from one or all of them. If he were honest with himself, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk, per se – he just… didn’t want to talk to them.

Pulling up his contact list, he hit one of the names in his speed dial list and put his phone on speaker; listening to the line ring and praying the person on the other end would answer. 

_“‘lo?”_

“Hey Kitster,” he said, relief filling him at the sound of his friend’s voice. “What’s happening?”

 _“Well, I was doing this real weird thing, you might’ve heard of it, I dunno – it’s called sleeping,”_ Kit replied, and it was then that Brock registered the sleepiness in his friend’s voice. _“It’s so weird but it’s a trend that I think might catch on. You should try it.”_

“Naw sorry Gramps, did I wake you from your nap?”

 _“Just you wait, whippersnapper; I’ll smack you over the head with my cane when I next see you.”_ They both chuckled, before Kit let out an audible yawn. _“In all seriousness though, I’m in the Philippines, remember? Or did your florets go all wilted with the changing seasons over there that your brains got scrambled?”_

“Ah shit,” he said, cringing slightly when he realised it was probably early morning there. “Sorry man, I completely forgot.”

Rather than reply with something witty, Kit hummed thoughtfully. _“Not like you to forget something like that,”_ he mused. _“Everything alright?”_

He exhaled heavily. “Not really,” he said after a moment. “Or maybe, I dunno. It’s… shit, Kit; it’s big.”

_“Sonny’s decided he’s buying that strip joint after all?”_

He scoffed a laugh. If only it were that easy. “I wish.” He heaved a deep sigh. “They’ve got a lead.”

The silence at the other end spoke volumes, so he waited. There was some movement, and some muttering before Kit started talking again. _“I’ve got you on speaker, Broccoli - Flynn, Troy, Tim and Roy are here; they’re having breakfast which is why they’re up. Tell us everything.”_

“Troy?” he said, surprised. “You went on the spin up?”

_“Yeah kid, I’m here to assist with training these guys and to do some learning of my own with Flynn. All part of Lindell’s effort to show the Brass that just because those with permanent injuries can’t serve in an active warzone, we’re not useless. It’s good to hear your voice, by the way. Now c’mon, spill.”_

“It’s good to hear yours too.” And it was. The shared experience of the attack, and the subsequent recovery for him and the majority of Delta had resulted in a close relationship between them all, which meant regular catchups and fortnightly barbecues whenever Delta was Stateside. As requested, he filled them in on the briefing that he received, told them that if everything went well, they’d be one step closer to bringing those responsible to justice.

 _“Holy shit,”_ Flynn muttered when he finished. _“Where’s your head at, kid? How’re you feeling?”_

“It feels… surreal, I guess,” he said after a moment, running a hand through his hair as he stared out the window. “I know I’m up to it, physically and mentally but… I just wasn’t expecting this for my first mission back. Guess it’s thrown me a bit.”

 _“One thing you have to remember is that even though you’ll want too, this can’t be about revenge – at least not until you have answers,”_ Roy said, his voice gentle. _“You can’t let a well-deserved vendetta come in the way of getting what’s needed.”_

Brock froze, processing what his Delta counterpart had said. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but now that a name had been put to it, he realised deep down that’s what was bugging him. To him, the mission wasn’t just about getting answers, but getting payback. He wanted to show Rojas just what he’d done, the pain he’d inflicted and the lives he’d changed – but more importantly, he wanted to make sure he could never do so again.

And that scared him.

 _“Listen Broccoli,_ ” Kit said, drawing him back to the conversation. _“I’m not one for condoning going off-script when it matters, but we all know you’ll do what’s needed to honor Sam and Reece; get payback for what happened to them. I think I speak for all of us when I say that whatever you do to him, you make sure it hurts – that he realises exactly what he’s done.”_

There were murmured agreements on the other end, and he wouldn’t deny that he felt a calm settle over him. While he wouldn’t actively torture the man, if the situation called for some… less than pleasant tactics to extract the information? Well. He wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. And he doubted anyone would pull him up on it, either.

 _“Keep us posted if you can,”_ Flynn said, before huffing a laugh. _“And for the love of god don’t go getting hurt again. Hayes’ nerves won’t handle it.”_

 _“Goddamn it! What’d you say that for?!”_ Kit wailed, and Brock clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his snort. _“Now you’ve gone and jinxed him, you fool!_ _Broccoli I swear to god, one bruise on that floret of yours and I’m hog-tying you to the herc!”_

“You can use the backpack leash Jase got me, make it useful,” he grumbled, scowling when the others burst out laughing. “Bite me, the lotta you.”

_“Oh god, did he?! I’m gunna message Clay; I want pictures.”_

“Clay’s got one too,” he retorted, but he couldn’t stay grumpy, no matter how much he might want to. Kit’s amusement was infectious, and the situation was kind of funny when he thought about it. Besides, it wasn’t like a leash would achieve all that much – with his luck the bloody thing would snap the one time it would actually be needed. “I doubt you’ll get any photos from him.”

 _“I’ll get them from Trent then,”_ Kit replied, sounding unbothered. _“Imma text him now. Hey, these guys have got to prep for their briefing, and I’m heading back to bed for a few more hours so we’ve got to go, baby tree; talk to you later.”_

 _“Keep us posted,”_ Troy added. _“Take care of yourself out there kid.”_

“Will do,” he said. “Have fun terrorising the newbies. Bye asshole,” he added, grinning when Kit cackled.

 _“Bye honey,”_ his weirdo of a friend cooed. _"Miss you!”_

Laughing at the others who were groaning in exasperation he ended the call, smiling fondly. Trust Kit to drag him from the depths of his darker feelings by being an utter spaz like usual.

A quick glance at the time revealed he’d been gone nearly half an hour. While it wasn’t long in the grand scheme of things, he wondered how much more he’d get away with before someone started calling. That, and he was running out of time to pack. Just then, his phone rang and he nearly dropped it in surprise – but answered it hurriedly when he saw who it was. “Hey stranger.”

 _“Hey yourself,”_ Roxy replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. _“How’ve you been?”_

“I’m good,” he said, feeling the truth in his words despite the thoughts tumbling through his head. “Got cleared to return to work, today’s my first day back.”

He grinned when she cheered. _“That’s amazing Brock! God I’m so happy for you, you must be thrilled!”_

“It’s good to be back, that’s for damn sure,” he agreed, closing his eyes and allowing himself to relax. Talking to Roxy always helped calm him down, it was what made her so special. He just wished she was around more often like she had been when she’d gone through basic training with him and Kit, because he truly missed her.

 _“Doc must’ve been glad to sign you off, especially after that bloody rumour,”_ Roxy said, before humming thoughtfully. _“What happened with that, by the way? Did they find out where it came from?”_

Rolling his eyes, he settled further into his seat. “Yeah, so turns out it was started by another doctor at the base hospital. I’ve never met the guy, but apparently he’s quite ambitious and has a habit of stirring up shit just to try and get himself noticed and pushed higher up the food chain. Doc’s not sure how he got a hold of my file, but he did and looked at it before saying out loud to a batch of kids fresh outta selection that I should be medically retired. The jackass used me as an _example_ of what can get you discharged. Who even does that?!” he fumed, the irritation he thought he’d gotten over flaring up again.

“Aside from the major breach in confidence, the guy knows nothing about me, or my situation and has the audacity to say shit like that?! Then! _Then_ of course as shit like that does, it spreads. The kids he said it too said it to other people they know, and next thing you know it’s halfway around the base and they all think it’s the truth!”

 _“Really?”_ Roxy said, her tone dark. “ _What’s his name?”_ Despite his anger at the guy who had nearly ruined his career, he smiled at her protectiveness. While he didn’t know anything about what Roxy did for a living, except that it was highly classified, he had no doubt that if he gave her the name she’d probably pay a certain doctor a visit. Even if he didn’t give her the name, she’d find him and pay the man a visit anyway.

“As much as I appreciate the offer for payback, Lindell handled it. Once they worked out where the rumour came from he had the guy reassigned to a ship within an hour. Then he held a meeting with the new recruits and _clarified_ a few things. Apparently Bravo and Alpha went along and stood in a line behind him at parade rest. Trent said he’d never seen a group look so terrified. I’m kinda disappointed I missed it.”

Roxy chuckled at that. _“I’m sorry you did, too. Did that stop it, you think?”_

“I think so, and the fact that I’m now cleared to operate should put any lingering doubts to rest. Although it doesn’t actually matter, does it? I’m here and I’m operating, and hopefully that can be used as an example that injuries don’t necessarily have to mean the end of a career.”

 _“This is true,”_ she agreed. _“So, anything exciting happen your first day? Did the boys make you drink from that weird ass leg you fellas have like a kid fresh off of Green Team again?”_

“If they could’ve gotten away with it, I think they would’ve,” he laughed, before the reminder of his mission charged its way to the front of his thoughts and forced his laugh to fade. He wished he could talk to her about what he was going into, get her two cents worth; she’d always had a unique insight to any mission he’d told her about, and he could really use her opinion about now. But he didn’t have the time to - a thought hit him, and it made him pause. Toying with it, he decided that he had to ask. It could result in a few minutes delay for their spin-up, but the result could be that they were more prepared than they currently were for the mission. “I’m actually being spun up in a few hours on a mission -”

_“Ooh, that’s exciting. First day back and you get a spin-up; that was nice of them to arrange.”_

He rolled his eyes at her half-hearted sarcasm. “Har har,” he joked, chewing on his lip for a moment before throwing caution to the wind. He had to ask. The worst she could say was that she didn’t know. “Hey, just outta curiosity, you ever heard of an Alejandro Rojas? Or Alex the Red, maybe?”

Roxy didn’t answer straight away, but her silence spoke for itself. _“Yeah,”_ she said eventually. _“What about him?”_

“What can you tell me?” He heard movement on the other end – it sounded suspiciously like doors closing, and he frowned. “Rox?”

_“Who’s asking?”_

The hesitation in her voice made him even more suspicious, and even more determined to get an answer. “Me,” he replied. “Intel suggests he supplied the explosives and guns to the ones responsible for Tenerife.”

 _“Shit. That… actually explains a lot,”_ she muttered, as though to herself before sighing heavily. _“There’s only so much I can give you. What do you want to know?”_

“What are we up against? We’ve been tasked to get information out of him, but something tells me it won’t be easy. You shoulda heard the way he spoke about the bombing, Rox; he was _happy_ about what happened,” he stressed, the feeling of disgust rising within him again. “There’s no way someone talks like that if they had a moral compass of any kind.”

 _“Well you’re not wrong.”_ She sighed heavily, and he sat up a little straighter. He had a feeling he was about to get more from her than Mandy could ever hope to give them without months of research. _“Rojas has a few different skillsets under his belt; he’s currently classed as an arm’s dealer, however he spent a good ten years as a hitman until he decided it was easier to sell things than travel around for work. Plus, he was starting to draw attention; he had the choice of continuing and getting himself killed by a foreign government, or laying low and continuing to operate from the shadows. His first kill was when he was ten – it was his parents; both were alcoholics, but the father was abusive. He killed his mother because he believed her to be weak for staying with him. Based on the photographs we found, he enjoyed it because he joined a cartel notorious for killing their rivals not three days later.”_

That was… disturbing. What was even worse was that someone knew of him, yet he’d still been able to do what he did. “You’ve been watching him for a while then?”

_“He’s been on our radar a couple of times, but nothing severe enough for us to act on.”_

“So supplying the people responsible for Tenerife wasn’t enough for you?” he demanded, suddenly infuriated. How could she say that? Knowing what had happened to all those people? To _him_? “Seriously Roxy, I might not know what you do, but you saw the numbers. Hundreds of people died because you didn’t stop him.”

 _“Brock, I want you to take a breath and listen to me before you accuse me of anything else, okay?”_ she replied, ever calm but with a steel edge to her voice. _“I said he’s been on our radar a couple of times, and while his actions weren’t severe enough for us to act on, it doesn’t mean we did nothing. We passed on a brief about him to the officials of any country that he seemed to be working out of, but we lost all trace of him twelve months ago. We sent someone to Brazil to try and track him down, but had no luck finding him. Evidently, he’d gone to ground while he was arranging what he needed for this group. Trust me, if I’d known what he was going to be a part of I would’ve dealt him myself, but we didn’t know, I swear.”_

He sighed quietly, sagging in his seat. That really hadn’t been fair of him, and he felt bad. Everything Roxy did was a secret, but if there was one thing he was certain about, she’d never lied to him when it mattered. “Sorry,” he said, voice thick. “I know you wouldn’t have just let it happen. I shouldn’t have said that.”

 _“It’s okay,”_ she soothed. _“I get it, if our positions had been reversed I’d be upset, too. Now, with what I was saying before – he specialised as a hitman before he became an arm’s dealer. He killed his parents, and if our tally is accurate, he has hundreds of kills to his name – and that was before he started making bombs. Basically, if you catch him – you don’t hold back getting that information out of him. Based on what I know, it’ll need to be painful if you want any answers.”_

“Got it. Anything else you can give me?”

_“He rarely goes anywhere without first sending one of his men, and as he’s one of the most feared men in the favela, he has an army at his disposal. Be careful in there Broccoli; I’d like you home in one piece, you hear me?”_

“Yes ma’am.”

 _“Smart ass_ ,” she retorted, her voice fond. _“Oh, and tell your spook to check the Cayman’s for an account. I imagine she’s having issues tracking down a payment for the job; I know he’s got a number of dummy accounts set up with different banks, but last I saw on his dossier he’d recently set one up there. I’ll see if I can find out the names on those accounts and I’ll get them to you. I won’t have access to the internet for a while, so it’ll be faster if your spook starts searching instead of waiting on me.”_

“You won’t have access to the internet?” he repeated, before realising it could only mean one thing. “You’re on a job?”

_“Yeah, but I had a few minutes before I head into the field and wanted to check in with you.”_

“I’m touched.”

_“You should be, I don’t do this for everyone y’know.”_

He smiled at that. She certainly didn’t. “You spoken to Kit?”

_“He’s next on my list, why?”_

“He’ll be glad to hear from you, is all. We haven’t seen you for months.” In fact the last time he saw her was when she turned up out of the blue two days after he’d been cleared to return home. He’d nearly fallen over in shock when he realised who was standing in his doorstep, but had ushered her inside before calling Kit. She had managed to stick around for all of two days before being called away again, and they hadn’t seen or heard from her since.

“And it was over a year before that, I know,” she sighed, and he felt bad for her. Where he and Kit could see each other on a regular basis, her work kept her out of the country more often than not, so seeing them was a rare occurrence. She hated it, but apparently there was nothing she could do about it. _“Unfortunately down time isn’t really a thing, but I’ve got nothing booked after this mission, so we should organise a catch up. I miss you guys.”_

“We miss you too.” His phone beeped, showing an incoming call from Jason, and he sighed. “Crap. Apparently I’ve been gone too long – if I don’t answer, I’ll be wearing my backpack leash this mission.”

 _“We wouldn’t want that,”_ Roxy sniggered _. “I’ll give Kitty a quick call before I head off. Good luck in Rio and watch your back, you hear me?”_

“Will do. Love ya, Rox.”

_“Love you too Floret. Talk soon.”_

Swiping to end one call and answer the other, he greeted his boss with a: “Hey pops, did I miss my curfew?”

 _“You make fun, but I will use the leash, don’t think I won’t,”_ Jason growled, before huffing a laugh. _“Seriously though, you okay?”_

“I’m all good,” he promised, starting his truck and heading back to base. “I’m on my way back, I should be there in about fifteen.”

 _“Alright, see you soon._ ”

“Copy that,” he replied, ending the call and settling in for the short drive. He’d need to tell Mandy what he’d learned, and probably the others at some point – and wouldn’t that open a can of worms that he didn’t know how to begin to explain.

Things were potentially about to get interesting. He just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

* * *

Knocking on the door, Brock waited for permission to enter, which was given quickly. Entering, he froze when he realised it wasn’t just Mandy in the office, but Lindell too. They were both looking at something on the table, however Mandy abandoned it when she saw him, coming around to give him a brief hug. 

“Brock, I’m so sorry if I caught you off-guard earlier,” she apologised. “But it’s intel we have to act quickly on, and I figured you’d want to be involved.” 

“It’s fine,” he said, exhaling slowly. “It’s why I’m here, actually. I have some info on Rojas you’ll want.”

Mandy froze, eyes wide in surprise. Lindell folded his arms over his chest, and it was hard not to duck his head at the sudden scrutiny. “You have info on Rojas?” Lindell repeated. “Care to explain?”

“I have a… contact, I guess you could say, who knows of Rojas. Apparently he’s only been an arms dealer for the last ten years, prior to that he was a hitman – a successful one, if his scorecard is accurate.” The pair shared a look, which told him this was new information for them. Oh, but he had some explaining to do. “The man has no moral qualms, he killed his parents when he was ten, and that was the start of his career. Getting information out of him won’t be simple, we’re likely going to have to torture it out of him.”

“Well we had suspected that would be the case,” Mandy mused, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “What else?”

“Check the Cayman’s for an account. He’s got several there, the newest set up about a year ago before he dropped off their radar. Beyond that, he uses his men to scope things out before going there in person, so it may not be him at the meet, and he has an army at his disposal.”

“What I’d like to know is where you’re getting your information from,” Lindell said. “Your source seems to know a lot about this man. Can we trust them?”

“I trust this person with my life,” he replied. “They’re on our side; they just want to help.”

“Considering how little we know about Rojas, I won’t ignore any new information,” Mandy said, before stepping forward and looking at him intently. “But Brock, I need to know who this person is, what they do. I can’t send you boys in on questionable evidence.”

“I won’t give their name because I can’t break their trust like that,” he countered apologetically. “And all I know about their work is that it’s highly classified. This isn’t questionable either, in fact it doesn’t change anything except give us a better insight. Act on it or don’t, it’s nothing to me, but I feel like you’re wasting valuable intel for the sake of nothing.”

There was a chime from Mandy’s phone, and she glanced at it – looking up at him several moments later, eyes wide. “Well it seems your source is right,” she said. “Our contact in Brazil said that the meet has changed and that Rojas is sending one of his right hand men to handle it; apparently the client is unhappy. Seems like you guys might have to track Rojas down yourselves.”

“This just got more complicated,” Lindell sighed, walking him to the door. “Alright, go get ready. We’ll have an updated brief for you on the flight over – tell the team to pack extras of everything.”

“Yes sir.” He left, heading for the cage room, and bit down a grin when he found Jason pacing outside it. “You look confused, boss,” he said as he joined him, knowing full well he was the reason for his anxiousness. “You lose something?” Jason shook his fist at him, and Brock took a step back when he saw a leash dangling from his fist. “Nuh-uh, I ain’t wearing that!”

“Where were you?” Jason demanded. “Even accounting for parking, that was longer than fifteen minutes.”

“Charlie team were getting spun up; they saw me and asked if I wanted to tag along,” he lied, grinning and holding up his hands when Jason growled aloud. “I’m kidding, Jesus. I was talking to Lindell.”

“No one takes any of my team,” Jason snarled, grabbing him by the arm and frog marching him into the room. “Especially not you! Not until they’ve been briefed on the correct use of your leash, anyway.”

He rolled his eyes at that, waving to the others when they turned to look at him. “Hey guys.” He crouched down and gave Cerberus a kiss on the head when the dog came trotting up to him, whining softly. “Hey bud, I’m all good. Come on, let’s get ready.”

“Whaddid you do this time?” Sonny asked. He was standing at the table inspecting a rifle; and while it was identical to the one the Texan normally carried, it was unmarked to help with their undercover story. “Lemme guess, you got lost in the corridor?”

“I told Jase Charlie asked me to join them on a spin up,” he said, grinning when more than one person sputtered in shock. “Man, you should see your faces!”

“Still too recent to joke about that,” Ray scolded, wagging a finger at him. “C’mon Brock, that wasn’t very nice of you.”

He shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

“Yeah, you would,” Trent replied, giving him the stink eye. “You have a weird sense of humour.”

“That I do, donkey. That I do.”

“Alright that’s enough,” Jason grumbled, entering his cage. “We’ve got less than an hour before we depart, so let’s get kitted up. We don't want to keep our new friends waiting.”


	3. Takedown

**A/N: Hello all! You've been patiently waiting, so here it is! Action stations everyone - cause the boys are straight into the thick of things, woot! So, the clip that 'inspired' this chapter can be watched[here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y4Mt1Fdj0HE&t=87s&ab_channel=shockwave981) (it's the original, you can watch the [remastered](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7WF6LNLj4w&ab_channel=AFGuidesHD) too except the interrogation is a bit different - no idea why they changed it) if you so choose - but the most important thing you should do while reading this is listen to the score that plays during that mission, which is linked [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0naKeVdo5V0&ab_channel=ModernWarfare2). Honestly, if you're like me and love having something to listen too to set the mood for the chapter, then you'll be doing yourself a favour!  
**

**On a separate note, you know that roadtrip I did about over two weeks ago? Where I practically drove the length of the country in three days? Yeah, so I have to do it again. I got offered a job in Auckland, which means I have to pack up my life of 7 years and gap it there from Queenstown in three days AGAIN. Oh boy. Lots and loooooots of driving, plus leaving all my friends behind. It's a bit of a bitter pill; on the one hand I've got a job which I'm thankful for, and closer to my family - but on the other Queenstown has become my home, and I'm really going to miss the people I'm leaving behind. Hopefully I'll be able to fly down every 3 or 4 months or so to visit over a weekend, would be nice!**

**Because of said roadtrip, and the absolute chaos that is trying to pack a life into boxes (again, bloody hell) - the next chapter may or may not be late. I'll do my best, but between packing and doing an assignment (which I should've been doing tonight but was instead proof-reading this, you're welcome :P ) life is pretty damn hectic right now, so I'm not going to place the pressure of also writing another chapter on my shoulders! So, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and accept it as my humble apology if next week is update-less!**

**Special shoutout to[meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [MeldirielErulisse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeldirielErulisse), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [Idk34](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idk34), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [Bball25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bball25), [argallel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argallel), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [summeronice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summeronice), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [hayes14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayes14), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [AeroWright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroWright), and [strandedchesspiece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece) as well as the 35 guest's who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

**As usual, come screech at me in the comments :D**

* * *

_“Bravo 5, Havoc; be advised, target vehicle will appear at your ten o’clock in one mike, over.”_

“Copy Havoc,” Brock replied, rolling up to the intersection and keeping his eyes to the left. With the red light and three cars ahead of him, he’d need to move quickly to get behind the van that they’d identified earlier as belonging to the men en-route to meet Rojas’s goon. It had taken some serious detective work on Lisa’s part to determine who would be at the meet, but eventually she’d been able to confirm Roxy’s theory about him using his lackeys to do the initial dirty work.

“Alright lads, we ready?” Clay asked from the backseat, and he threw a quick glance to the rear view mirror – found Clay and Jason with their eyes forward and looking for all the world like two regular men in the back of a taxi. They would be, if they didn’t have glocks strapped to their thighs and their ACR's ready at their feet. His own was covered by a jacket in the footwell of the passenger seat and within easy reach.

_“Bravo 5, you should have eyes on any second now.”_

Turning back to the front, he put his attention to the road. Sure enough, a brown van came into view and passed through the intersection. The light he was waiting for went green, and he started moving forward with the other cars, willing them to hurry. He got through the lights and did a fancy bit of driving to catch up to their target, only to realise there were two nearly identical brown vans side by side - and he hadn’t seen which lane the one he wanted had gone into. “Shit,” he muttered, before activating his radio. “Havoc be advised, I have a second brown van – confirmation of the target vehicle’s plates needed, over.”

_“Copy 5, plates as follows: Charlie – Oscar – Delta – Mike – Whiskey – Zero – Two.”_

So it was one on the right. “Copy Havoc,” he said as he pulled in behind it. “I’m behind our target vehicle.”

_“Bravo 1, this is 2; any sign of Rojas’ right hand man?”_

Ray, Sonny and Trent were in a separate vehicle approaching from the opposite direction. The plan was to try and get both vehicles as close as possible – if these guys picked up Rojas’ lackey, they didn’t want to lose them. Ray, Sonny and Trent were in the separate vehicle, because apparently Jason’s solution to not bringing the leashes on the mission was to assign himself as ‘the babysitter’. He and Clay had both opened their mouths to argue, but one look from the other four had promptly shut them again.

“Negative 2,” Jason replied. “From what Davis has said, the van’s stopped twice already, so might be that they don’t know where this guy is.”

“Heads up, they’re stopping again,” he said, pulling into the bus stop that was outside the Hotel Rio.

“2, they’ve stopped again. Standby.”

A man exited onto the street, and he heard his brothers’ shift in the back. While he couldn’t understand what was being said, the yelling and aggressive body language from both groups told him that this wasn’t going to be a civil meeting like first expected. He reached over, eyes staying on the men in front of the hotel while his fingers curled around his gun.

“All Bravo units be advised, we’ve got a positive ID on the assistant,” Jason said. “Whoever these guys are, they’re not happy to see him; and apparently the feeling’s mutual.”

Then, without warning, the two cartel goons pulled their guns on Rojas’ man. But the lackey was faster. He open fired – killing the two men he’d been confronted with, and the driver when he ran over to try and help.

“Ray, we have a situation here!” Jason said, and all three of them ducked when the man turned to them and open fired. “Get down get down! Bandana’s on boys, we can’t have anyone seeing our faces!”

Shoving his mask in place and nearly ripping off his seatbelt, Brock grabbed his gun and dove out of the car, hot on Jason and Clay’s heels.

“He’s getting away!” Jason yelled, sprinting after their target. Looking at the way Bravo 1 moved, you’d never have known he’d nearly had his career ended by a hip injury eighteen months prior. “Ray, the cartel guys are dead! We’re on foot! Meet us at the Hotel Rio and cut him off if you can!”

_“Roger, we’re on our way!”_

They raced around the corner, and were met with chaos. Rojas’ man was firing as he ran, clearing a path for his escape – there were bodies on the ground, cars crashed into poles, people running and screaming as they fled, but they couldn’t stop… the need to check on the wounded was outweighed by the need to get their man.

They cut across the sidewalk into the next street and met up with the rest of their team. Trent was nearly taken out by a car, and it was only thanks to the driver’s quick reflexes with her brakes that his brother was able to slide along the hood of the car, rather than be rammed by it.

“He went into the alley!” Sonny yelled, rounding the dumpster that half concealed the entrance and they all took a sharp left to follow the Texan.

“Non-lethal takedown’s only!” Ray reminded them. “We need him alive!”

“Clay – take the shot! Go for his leg!” Jason ordered. They all slowed for Clay to get ahead, give him a clear line of sight, and the single _ping_ from the gun was all the warning that was given before the man dropped to the concrete with a pained yell.

“Nice shooting Bam-Bam,” Sonny said, hurrying forward and placing his boot on the lackey’s back to stop him from crawling away like he was trying to do. “Hey asshole, no-one likes a cry baby,” he added, stomping harder. “Shut the hell up.”

“Tie him up,” Jason ordered. “Clay, call it in. Trent, you and Brock find us somewhere for our chat. There’s plenty of garages here, find one with power and some tools.” Ray pulled out the cable ties from his pocket and secured the guy’s hands behind his back, and with Sonny’s help, dragged him upright before gagging him. Best not to draw more attention while they were still out in the open.

“Havoc, Bravo 6,” Clay said, doing as Jason had instructed while following him and Trent down the alley. Pressing his ear to the first door, he signalled to Trent he couldn’t hear anyone. His friend removed the bolt cutters from his pack, and they set about getting it open. “We’ve secured the package; establishing a spot for our chat, over.”

 _“That’s a good copy 6,”_ Blackburn replied. _“Be advised, you’re on the edge of the favela. Based on ISR, you’ve left a serious mess in the roads – it won’t have gone unnoticed. You need to get off the streets ASAP.”_

 _“We’re going to lose ISR cover in five minutes,”_ Lisa added. _“I’m still working on finding cameras overlooking the favela to give you guys a hand, but I’m not having a lot of luck. Right now, you’re on your own from here on out.”_

“Copy Havoc,” Clay replied. “Keep us posted.”

Brock and Trent were on their third garage now, the first two proving to be empty, but holding nothing useful when they’d slid the doors up to have a peek. Through the small gap between the door and floor that Trent had made for him, one glance showed him that this garage had exactly what they needed. “Jackpot,” he said, nodding at Trent who pushed the door higher so he could climb up.

Brock looked around, and had to remind himself of what Roxy had said. That pain would be needed to extract the information – and yeah, with what was here they could inflict a fair bit of it.

“Shit Brock,” Clay whistled, boosting himself inside and looking around. “I wanna say you hit the jackpot, but damn brother.”

“What have we got?” Jason asked, and Clay crouched at the edge of the garage while Brock followed Trent and started dragging things into the center.

“Chair, car battery, jumper leads, blow torch... looks like a tool kit of some kind,” Clay replied. Brock attached the leads to the battery and touched them together, making them spark. He nodded at Trent, and they dragged the table closer to the chair Trent had moved.

“Perfect. Brock, give Clay a hand to get our buddy up – Trent, get ready to tie him to the chair.”

Leaving Trent to sort what he needed, he joined Clay and together they hauled Rojas’ man into the garage. It wasn’t easy by any means, the man hadn’t stopped struggling since Ray and Sonny had gotten him off the ground, and he really started fighting when he saw what was waiting for him. With a well-aimed kick to the back of the knee to throw him off balance, they had him pinned in the chair while Trent tied his wrists to the arms of it.

The rest of their team joined them, and Jason grabbed the two leads, tapping them together and making them spark in front of their captive. “Alright, this is going to take some time. Ray, take Sonny, Brock and Clay with you and check the favela for any sign of Rojas’ – that’s where this guy was headed.”

They nodded and jumped down, and a final look over his shoulder showed Jason standing there with the leads in his hands, already talking to their hostage while Trent tailed them to the roller door. He gave his best friend a sympathetic, but hopefully reassuring smile. Trent had been somewhat reluctant with Jason’s plan for him to be there while Bravo 1 interrogated the man; Jason had wanted him there in a ‘medical’ capacity – to ensure the man didn’t die until they had what they needed. But Trent was in the business of saving people, not breaking them, when it came to one on one work.

Still, Trent hadn’t argued, and he only hoped this wouldn’t affect his best friend as badly as he feared.

Trent nodded back, his face expressionless, before slamming the rolling door shut. The sound of it reverberated in his bones, and he made a note to buy the man a case of beer, at least.

“Let’s go,” Ray said, and they all broke into a jog down the alley way. “Remember, there could still be civilians in the lower levels of the favela – watch your fire out there.”

They rounded the corner, and Brock felt his stomach drop. There were dozens of civilians in the yard; men, women, children – all playing, all going about their lives. Mandy’s contact had said that they’d left - that the last turf war had driven them from their homes. But evidently the contact’s information was outdated – unsurprising, if the cops had abandoned the place.

“Shit,” Clay muttered, glancing around their small group that had slowed at the sight and was now sneaking up the alley. “That’s a lot of civvies, Ray.”

“We’re just going to have to hope they get to cover,” Bravo 2 replied, his expression pained. “We can’t back out now. Sonny, get ‘em outta here.”

“Roger that,” Sonny replied, striding forward – the rest of them close on his heels. The Texan raised his gun into the air, firing off a few shots and as expected sent people running, their screams a cacophony of yelling.

Then all hell broke loose.

They’d only just jumped down over the low wall when multiple gunmen appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and Brock lifted his gun, firing immediately. “Contact twelve o’clock!”

He dropped the guy he’d aimed for, but two more took his place. Sprinting towards the buildings so he could get out of range of the men scurrying across the rooftops, he dove to the side with a curse when a guy popped up in the window directly ahead, his AK trained on him. The glass exploded outwards and he returned fire, nailing him quickly.

Jesus, but there were more guys than Mandy’s intel had indicated. Probably even more than Roxy’s too. “Ray! We’re sitting ducks here!” he yelled, eyes finding his brothers who were all trying to advance while taking cover. “We need to move!”

“Sonny! You and Clay go left, Brock and I’ll go right!” Ray yelled, running up to join him while thumbing his radio on. “Bravo 1 be advised, we’ve encountered enemy militia in the lower village.” Ray moved behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Brock I’m with you! Watch the rooftops!”

He started moving, keeping as close to the buildings as possible and dropping anyone who appeared; Ray clearing above while he cleared the front.

They cut through buildings and put down anyone that resisted. They were just about to exit a building when Ray shoved him from behind, sending him to the ground. “RPG!”

The building beside them exploded in a hail of rubble and tin; the guy missing only because Ray had put a bullet in his head as he fired. “You all good?!” he yelled over his shoulder, coughing when the dust swirled around his head and making it hard to breathe through his mask. “Ray?!”

“I’m good!” His 2IC yelled. “Keep moving!”

_“2, 1; give me a sitrep, over!”_

“Lots of militia but no sign of Rojas over here, over!”

 _“Copy that!”_ Jason replied. Evidently they were still trying to get a location out of their lackey. _“Keep searching! Let me know if you see him! Out!”_

“Sonny, you guys good?” Ray asked, tapping him on the shoulder and they ran through the next alley, dropping three guys on the ground and four on the roof. “Changing mag.”

He covered his brother, only to sprint forward and grab the grenade that had been lobbed at them before tossing it back the way it came, sending militia scattering with a yell when it exploded. Thankfully Ray had already sorted his mag, so he was able to defend himself. “Sonny, these guys are using grenades and RPG’s in here – be careful!” he added, dropping two guys quickly and changing his mag when the gun clicked empty. “Where the hell are they all coming from?!”

 _“Clay and I are moving up, we caught a glimpse of you a second ago,”_ Sonny said, his call barely audible over the yelling and gunfire around them. _“We can see an alley up ahead, we’ll try rally with you once we’re through.”_

“Copy,” Ray said, then tapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s move up.”

Move. Shoot. Repeat. Dive out of the way of an RPG or grenade when they were lobbed their way, and still they moved further into the favela. They were tucked in a corner of a building when he saw a shadow come running down the alley they were about to enter, and keeping low he ran up to meet the gunman.

Grabbing the barrel of the gun with his left hand as it appeared around the corner, he pulled it over his shoulder so he couldn’t be shot and punched the guy with his right, sending him stumbling backwards where he crumpled in a heap when Ray tapped a couple of rounds into him.

“Shit Brock, give me a heart attack why don’t you,” Ray scolded. “I’m not on babysitting duties, so don’t pull that shit again, you hear me.”

“Shoulda paired me with Clay then,” he quipped, before rounding the corner and hurrying down the alley. He could see a tennis court at the end, and activated his radio. “Sonny, we’re approaching a tennis court via the alley – rally there if you can.”

 _“We see it,”_ Clay replied, _“and I think I see your alley. Will be approaching at your eleven o’clock.”_

“Copy.” He took out two more guys who suddenly appeared at the end, and he and Ray swept the immediate area for anyone else. The only people they saw were Clay and Sonny, and soon the four of them were moving towards what appeared to be the next level of the favela.

_“All Bravo elements – we’ve got Rojas’ location and are en-route now! He’s headed west along the upper levels of the favela! We’ll keep him from doubling back on our side – keep going and cut him off up top!”_

“Copy!” Ray said, but Brock didn’t hear him, because all his attention was on the three men who suddenly appeared on a nearby rooftop.

“RPGs!” he yelled, sprinting to the right and grabbing whoever was beside him. The building that the three grenades ploughed into disintegrated, and he threw a hand over his head as debris was flung everywhere – dust billowing up and out and coating everything in the nearby area. A quick check showed him it was Clay he’d grabbed, so he wrapped his fingers in his brother’s tac-vest and led him away from the area, the pair of them coughing even as they looked for any hostiles. “Ray! Sonny! You good?!”

 _“Roger, we’re good!”_ Ray replied, coughing heavily from the dust. _“We’re going to try get higher. Remember, this is their territory, they know it well! Keep an eye open for ambush positions and check your corners!”_

“Copy, good luck!”

 _“Backpack leashes, I swear to god,”_ Sonny added, growling the warning over the radio. Brock shook his head but didn’t bother answering – the threat clear. Rejoin them in one piece, otherwise they wouldn’t be allowed out by themselves ever again.

“Let’s go,” Clay said, pointing at an alcove that seemed to be well protected. “Let’s wash off this dust first so we can see who the hell we’re shooting at.”

He nodded, and followed his brother to the corner he’d indicated, setting up watch. It took but a second for Clay to whip off his bandana and wash his face with the water from his canteen. He swapped the mask out for another - Davis’ idea for them to have spares in case they lost one – and then took point while Brock did the same.

Now able to breathe without inhaling half the demolished building, Brock secured his canteen and tapped Clay on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They made their way up a small flight of stairs, dropping who appeared to be the same three guys that fired the RPGs at them – and that was all the breather they got before literally being thrown back into a hornets nest.

Rooftops, doorways, windows, corners – these guys were popping up literally everywhere and it took everything he and Clay had to shoot without being shot themselves. They dove into a nearby building and eliminated the two militia that had been hiding in the far doorway – evidently waiting for them to pass by so they could shoot them from behind.

“Fucking hell,” Clay muttered, taking a second for a breather. “Intel was way off - it’s like the whole favela is after us.”

“I think they are,” he replied, eyes on the door. “How’s your ammo?”

“I picked up some mags when I was with Sonny, so I’m all good. You?”

He did a quick count, grimaced when he realised he’d used four mags so far. “Down to about half,” he replied. “I’ll have to start collecting some too.”

“Keep me posted,” Clay said. “Alright, let’s toss a couple flashbangs out – get the attention off us a sec.” They moved up and split so they were either side of the doorway. The yelling started up again, and Brock grabbed a banger from his pack. These guys were getting too close for comfort. “Ready?”

He nodded, and they both pulled their pins before tossing the stun grenades outside. There were two loud bangs as they went off, followed by multiple screams, and they threw themselves back into the fight.

Guys dropped from the walkways that linked the buildings – literally, when he or Clay shot them – fell from rooftops… but for every one they took out another was there instantly. Twice in a row they’d had to sprint back to an area they’d just cleared when some trigger-happy dude with a machine gun or RPG let loose, and the lack of progress to the rest of their team was starting to rankle.

“Jesus Christ,” Clay muttered, pressing himself against the building before activating his radio. Brock took out the third guy with a machine gun, and shook his head at Clay - hoping it conveyed his disbelief at the weaponry these guys had. Seriously, they were well equipped – too well equipped for an area that was supposed to be poverty-stricken. “All Bravo elements, watch the rooftops! We’ve had a few close calls with RPGs and machine guns positioned up high!”

 _“Copy 6,”_ Jason replied. _“Havoc, you got eyes on yet?”_

 _“Negative 1,”_ Blackburn replied, the frustration evident in his voice. _“As expected, the area is too poor to have surveillance, and we can’t risk a drone being shot down in the area. You boys are on your own.”_

Fuck. That wasn’t good. _“Copy Havoc, out.”_ Based on Jason’s tone, he agreed. Brock was just in the process of taking out two men who appeared on a nearby balcony when he came on the radio again. “ _Lads, we’re taking heavy fire from militia here but still tracking Rojas! He’s gone into a building! Trent, you see him?”_

_“Roger that, he’s climbing onto a roof and carrying a black duffle bag!”_

_“Well that ought to slow him down! Guys, we’re keeping him from doubling back! Keep moving to intercept! Go! Go!”_

_“Copy 1!”_ Sonny replied. _“Leash twins, where you at?”_

“Le-?!” Clay spluttered indignantly before thumbing his radio on. “Fuck off Quinn. And we’re still trying to cut through the middle level of the favela – these guys seem to be multiplying and they keep forcing us back.”

 _“Sonny and I have managed to get to the rooftops,”_ Ray replied, sounding slightly out of breath. _“We can see 1 and 4 in the distance, we’ll rally with them. Pick up the pace.”_

“Pick up the pace,” Clay mimicked childishly under his breath, flicking to his grenade launcher and firing at a balcony they’d just seen four guys run too. There were multiple screams, and several bodies that went flying, and Brock tapped his brother on the shoulder as they moved up. “Copy 2, we’re doing what we can.”

 _“Don’t let the militia pin you down for too long!”_ Trent added. _“Use your flashbangs on them if you have too to get through!”_

“It’s like they don’t trust us!” Clay said as they sprinted down the street they’d just cleared. “I mean… use your flashbangs, don’t get pinned down; shit Broccoli, who woulda thunk it?”

He sniggered, and shot the guy who suddenly shoved a window open, barely sparing him a glance as he toppled out with a gurgled shriek. “You do realise, you ever lead a team they’ll be texting you during a mission to make sure you’ve got everything, right? Including a change of briefs.”

Clay said something unintelligible. He’d put money on it being a curse of some kind. “Fucking overbearing smother hens,” the blond said aloud, shooting a guy who appeared around the corner, firing wildly. “And what, they wouldn’t be texting you?”

“At this rate I won’t even be allowed out of the house.” He saw movement in a building ahead and switched to his own grenade launcher – firing one through the open window. He must’ve hit a gas bottle or something similar, because the building nearly collapsed on itself in a ball of flames – screams of the trapped and wounded billowing out as quickly as the smoke. “Oops.”

“Nice shot, let’s move up.”

 _“I’ve lost sight of him again!”_ Jason radioed. _“Trent, talk to me!”_

 _“I’m onto him!”_ Bravo 4 replied, gunfire echoing through their earpieces. “ _He’s trying to double back through the alleys below!”_

_“Roger that! Stay on him!”_

_“I’ve got a visual on Rojas!”_ Sonny said, and Brock wouldn’t deny the relief he felt that most of their team were now together. It meant he and Clay didn’t have to worry about accidentally shooting their brothers because they’d been unknowingly nearby. _“He’s cutting through the market!”_

“ _Roger that! I’ll head for the rooftops and try to cut him off on the right! He’s going to have no choice but to head west!”_

An idea hit him then, and he quickly consulted the compass attached to his wrist. “Clay, this way.”

The blond frowned, but followed him down an alley. “Where we going Broccoli?”

He held up a finger and activated his radio. “Havoc, 5; how far are we from the others?”

 _“Standby 5,”_ Lisa replied. He and Clay set about clearing the alley; thankfully there were fewer militia here, but they still took out half a dozen or so before she came back on again. _“Cross referencing your signals and the aerial photo of the favela you’re on the far west side - it looks like you’ve got another level or so to get through before you’re in the same area as the others.”_

He swapped out his mag, nodding as he did so. He’d thought as much. “Copy.”

“What are you thinking?” Clay asked, swapping his own magazine out. They’d been picking up compatible ones off of bodies as they’d gone along, so were doing well for ammunition. Using the available resources was far better than using their own, and it also meant they couldn’t be used against them further down the track.

“We won’t catch up to the others going the way we were,” he said, heading up a flight of stairs slowly and popping the guy who was trying to disappear around the corner. “This area seems to be quieter, so if we can cut further west then double back we should catch up to the others faster.”

_“I’m taking a lot of fire from the militia, I don’t think I can track him through the market! I’m going to have to find another way around!”_

_“Copy Sonny. Be advised, I’m about half a klick east of the market, I can see Rojas running across the rooftops on my right side!”_

_“Roger 2! 5, 6; we’re corralling him closer to your side of the hill! Keep an eye open! He’s still making his way across the rooftops!”_

“Understood!” Clay replied. Nodding at each other, they picked up the pace; found the diversion was the best course of action because they’d definitely entered a quieter part of the favela - although based on the yelling behind them, it wouldn’t last too much longer. “Fuck, we need to get moving.”

“Here!” He said, nearly sliding to a stop before throwing himself up the stairs that he’d found nestled between two buildings. “Christ, it’s a bloody hornet’s nest in here!” A lone gunman appeared on a rooftop ahead, and they both took him out with extreme prejudice. “Asshole.”

_“Jase, I’ve got Rojas in my sights! We can go for a clean leg shot! We can end it here!”_

“The only clean thing you’ve pulled off in your life are your STD tests,” Clay quipped over the radio, sounding far too amused despite how quickly they were moving through the streets, and Brock snorted loudly when he caught a glimpse of the smirk on his brother’s face.

“Nicely played.”

 _“Fuck you, tinker-bell!”_ Sonny screeched, seconds before Jason replied: _“Negative! We can’t risk it! Do not engage!”_

 _“Bollocks! Roger that! And I’ll get you for that, Bam-Bam - don’t think I won’t!”_ Brock gave himself a mental pat on the back. Called it.

The yelling was growing louder, and he groaned. Their vanishing act had apparently come to an end – either there was someone higher up on overwatch that had spotted them, or they’d seen one of their buddies drop after painting the roof red. They charged into a building, shooting the two gunmen that appeared through a far doorway before sprinting up the stairs. There was a balcony that had a walkway connecting to it – and they were suddenly on the rooftops. “Fucking finally!” he said, diving behind a pile of cinderblocks and taking cover from the trio that appeared on the rooftop ahead. “We’ve got company!”

“I see ‘em!” Clay yelled from behind his own cover. Another two joined the three, and he and Clay apparently had the same idea because they both fired grenades at the building – caving half of it in and blowing the group up and off of it. “Jinx!”

He rolled his eyes, reloaded the grenade launcher and sent another one into the balcony opposite. “Let’s go!”

 _“Fuck sake!”_ Trent growled. _“He jumped the fence!”_

 _“I’m after him!”_ Ray replied.

 _“Roger that!”_ Jason called. _“I’m going around to the left!”_

Brock would feel bad that he and Clay weren’t involved in the chase, but as they seemed to be the only ones doing any work on eliminating the bad guys, he didn’t much care. He’d get his chance with the arm’s dealer soon enough.

Then, all of a sudden there was movement a few buildings ahead. Double taking after initially giving him a cursory glance, he realized the guy he saw was running across the roof with a black duffle bag. “Clay!” he called, pointing out the figure he’d seen. “Got him!”

“Fucking finally,” Clay huffed. “Alright, let’s end this. All Bravo elements be advised, 5 and I just spotted Rojas – we’re nearly with you!”

 _“Tardy to the party, as per freaking usual,”_ Sonny taunted. _“Wait – where’d he go?! Whose got eyes on?!”_

 _“Trent!”_ Ray called, voice semi-panicked. _“He’s going for that motorcycle!”_

 _“No he’s not!”_ There was an explosion, which told Brock his friend had probably just blown up said bike to stop him from using it. That was one way to slow him down. _“He’s going – wait! Shit! He’s headed back towards you Jase!”_

 _“Nice! We’re closing in on him lads!”_ Jason called. _“Fuck, he’s breaking to the right again! Man he can move!”_

He and Clay sprinted around the corner, taking out the few militia that were on the ground and doing their best to assist their boss when his eyes were drawn to the building that Rojas was currently running across. His eyes tracked the path he was taking, assessed where he’d be going – and he realized exactly where the man was aiming for.

With the remainder of Bravo still behind him, there was no one there to change said path for him. “Clay, I’m going far right!” He shouldered his gun and drew his sidearm as he sprinted for the building. He heard Clay’s startled yell of his name but paid him no mind – took out the two guys that appeared from nowhere and drew his knife to slit the throat of the third when he appeared around the corner.

He heard footsteps behind him, followed by Clay calling his name, but still he ignored him. Barreling up the stairs, the windows were large enough that he had a good view of the rooftops – a good view of Rojas coming closer.

“Clay! Where’s Brock!” Trent yelled, and Brock took a second to roll his eyes at the fact that Trent’s focus was on his whereabouts rather than the man they were supposed to be catching. Evidently Bravo were now on the scene as well.

“He’s gonna get away!” Sonny yelled, his voice loud in the clearing and over the radio.

“No he’s not,” he muttered, diving through the window to tackle Rojas through the balcony and falling two stories onto the car below. Grabbing a fistful of shirt and pressing the barrel of his gun to Rojas’ chest, he smirked. “Surprise asshole,” he panted, eyes quickly checking the man for any severe injuries and finding none. Good, it gave them more to work with.

“Are you _serious_?!”

He looked up, found a livid looking Jason and Trent, an exasperated Ray and an impressed Sonny in front of him. A glance up to where he’d been and there was Clay, standing there with his hands on his hips and scowling down at him. “Did you even _look_ before you threw yourself out of a goddamn two story window?!” Jason demanded, stomping his foot and looking nearly feral. “Through a _balcony?!_ ” 

Trent looked just as pissed, clenching and unclenching his hands by his side. Brock knew full well that if the situation allowed for it, they’d be wrapped around his throat about now. “How the hell did you know that car was there, Brock?! You coulda killed yourself!”

“And our target,” Ray muttered, but he went ignored.

He rolled his eyes, holstering his gun and grabbing the cable ties he had in his pocket. “You going to stand there and chew me out, or are we going to get what we came for?” Rojas groaned, his face etched in pain, and he gave him a shake. “Shut up, nobody asked you.”

Jason threw his hands in the air with an indignant, wordless yell, before storming over and climbing onto the car next to him. “I swear to god, you complain of sore knees – sore _anything_ – I will have you grounded for a year! Ray call it in then set security with Clay, Sonny give me a hand. Brock... go sit in the goddamn corner until Trent clears you.”

Barely refraining from rolling his eyes – lest Jason see and he get a smack over the head, he allowed Jason and Sonny to take over and eased himself off the now mangled roof of the car; doing a couple of quick squats and noting there was no pain to speak off. He realised Ray was still staring, so he gave him a thumbs up.

“Havoc, this is Bravo 2,” Ray said, rolling his eyes and turning away. “We’ve got the package. I repeat, we’ve got the package.”

 _“Copy 2, good work,”_ Lisa replied. _“Get what we came for and get out of there. You don’t need to draw further attention to yourselves.”_

“Copy all, we’ll get it done.”

He was grabbed and spun from behind, and with a surprised yelp found himself sitting on a crate with Trent towering over him. “Hey man.” He winced when Trent swatted him over the head. “Rude, T.” He grumbled when he was swatted a second time, but kept his mouth shut.

“Seriously,” Trent seethed, squatting and grabbing his knees – poking and prodding harshly. “We haven’t even had you back a week – a _week_ – and you go do something like that!”

“Rojas was smart,” he countered, rolling his eyes as he was examined. He felt fine, and his friend’s inspection wasn’t turning up any surprise aches or twinges, either. “You guys weren’t going to catch him the way you were going because he knows the area. Clay and I wouldn’t have been able to intercept him in time if we’d followed from the ground, because he would’ve changed his path. Taking him by surprise was the only way we could do it and I knew the car was there because I’d already seen it. Besides,” he paused and grinned at his friend when Trent looked up at his silence. “I bet it looked awesome.”

Trent pushed away with a noise of disgust, and Brock sniggered when he saw Trent’s mouth lift at the corner. His friend fought his smile, hard – but it was a losing battle. “C’mon,” he wheedled, waggling his eyebrows. “It looked cool, didn’t it?”

“Fine, it was pretty damn cool,” Trent admitted, sounding annoyed. “But for the love of God, don’t do it again.”

He gave him a sloppy salute and stood, looking to see where Jason and Sonny had gone. They’d dragged Rojas over to a rundown building that had a metal fence attached, and were in the process of tying him to it so he found the button to pop the hood of the car he’d just crushed. “Try find some jumper cables, would you? There’s a couple cars here – one must have some.”

Instead of searching, Trent removed his small gear bag and opened it – showing him the contents.

“Well that’s handy,” he said, nodding at the sight of jumper leads folded up. “That from before?”

“Yep.” Trent pulled them out before closing his bag again.

The clipped reply made him pause, and after making sure the others were occupied, he shuffled closer. “Hey, you all good? What happened to his buddy?”

“He didn’t make it,” his brother replied stiffly. Placing a hand on his arm was all it took for Trent to sag slightly. “I didn’t sign up to the Navy to torture people, Brock,” he whispered. “But I don’t feel guilty about it. Knowing what his boss did, what he probably helped with and has probably done to innocent people…”

“You’re right, you didn’t,” he replied, just as quiet so as to avoid drawing their brothers’ attention. “But you signed up to the Navy to stop people like him, like Rojas. The difference in getting the information is that it was time critical – we didn’t have all day otherwise Rojas could’ve been in the wind. If it helps, you did it for me, Delta and all those people who died. You’re helping bring the people responsible to justice; that’s all that should matter.”

Trent gave him a grateful smile, but there was still something dark lingering in his brother’s eyes, so Brock made a note to check on him at the end of the mission. Popping the hood, he took the leads from Trent and tapped them together to check the battery worked. Sparks flew and he nodded, uncoupling them and handing them back. It took but a moment to disconnect the battery and remove it from the car, and with a nod of his head in Jason’s direction he headed over – set it down heavily on the metal drum that was next to Rojas.

Jason clapped him on the shoulder when he passed, and he went and stood behind his boss, folding his arms as he watched Bravo 1 stare impassively at a sneering Rojas.

“You upset because another cartel hit you?” the man asked, squirming as he tested his bonds. “Lose your drugs? Your money? Your women, perhaps? Not my problem, amigo. I’m just a courier – can’t hold me responsible for what others do. If you let me go, I’ll give you whatever you want. Guns? Explosives? Both, yes? Make them pay?”

Jason took the leads from Trent and attached them to the battery. “Sucks to be you then,” he replied, sparking the ends together. “Because that’s not what I want.”

The sneer stayed in place, but Brock caught the slight widening of his eyes. Panic was starting to set in. Good. “What is it you want then?”

“A name,” Jason said, clipping one lead to the frame before circling to the other side. “And you’re going to give it to me.” He clipped the second lead on.

Rojas screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this mission, the team are using an ACR Grenadier ACOG Sight - the grenade launcher is an attachment to the gun, and was your main weapon to start with in the game. I always stick with it because shooting grenades certainly moves things along a lot quicker, and is kinda fun!
> 
> If there are any questions re the speed Jason and Trent started tracking Rojas, please don't ask me :P That's how the game dialogue goes, and it was only as I proofread it now that I realised they must've teleported there. For the sake of the story, they probably had access to a car, or just got to the rooftops really fast! :P


	4. The Hornets Are Swarming

**A/N: Well hi there! I profusely apologise for such a long delay in updating - life went absolutely crazy! Moved up the country - prepping for the move was unbelievably frustrating, I had nine days to essentially pack up 7 years of my life and leave town, but I eventually got it sorted. Then took three days to drive up, another to recover from the exhaustion of said drive, one day to be semi-functional and then I started my new job! I've been writing where I can, but unfortunately I haven't had a hell of a lot of time to do so; but this is down to the last of my uni assignments being due on the 15th. So, with that in mind the next chapter is also likely to be a few weeks away, as I need to suck it up and get these assignments for this stupid certificate finished. Once that's done, I'll finally have my life back again to focus on my stories! Woohoo!**

**Now, like previous chapters there's a soundtrack that goes with it, which you can listen to[here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4MXIgpTIExI&ab_channel=TheNoobCaptain). This chapter is also heavily inspired by the mission in CoD 2, which you can watch [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o16zHd7HRUo&t=281s&ab_channel=DraKulisCinematicGaming) if you want to visualise! I really hope you enjoy this chapter - it's been hard writing it with all the stopping and starting I've been doing, but I hope it lives up to the standard of the previous chapters!**

**My usual shout out to:[Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [MeldirielErulisse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeldirielErulisse), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [Idk34](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idk34), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [Bball25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bball25), [argallel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argallel), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [summeronice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summeronice), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [hayes14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayes14), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [AeroWright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroWright), and [strandedchesspiece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece) as well as the 43 guest's who've commented and kudosed. You guys are awesome, as always!**

**As per usual, come screech at me in the comments!**

* * *

“Havoc, 1; Jackpot. Rojas squealed like a pig. Send the helo for extraction.”

_“Copy 1, good work. Snow’s spinning up – she’ll contact you for an evac point when she’s in the area.”_

“Roger, out.”

“Jase! The militia’s closing in – almost two hundred of ‘em, front and back!”

Brock looked over at Clay’s yell – saw him and Sonny scrambling down from the ledge they’d set up on for overwatch. He was monitoring an alley on the other side, and hurried over to join his brothers as they regrouped. “How far away are they?”

Sonny shrugged, but was shifting uneasily on the spot. “How long’s a piece of string?”

Rolling his eyes, Clay smacked the Texan upside the head. “We need to move. Now. If we wait any longer, we’re dead.”

“Shit. We’ll have to fight our way to the LZ,” Jason said, abandoning the smoldering, unconscious wreck that was still attached to the fence and grabbing his gun. “Alright, let’s go boys.”

“What about Rojas?”

Jason pulled out his sidearm and cocked it, but before he could take aim Ray was there – pushing the gun away. “The hell, Ray?” Jason snapped, glaring at his 2IC and fighting against his hand. “Get outta the way.”

Ignoring the order, Ray shoved Bravo 1 backwards - just enough that he could talk quietly without risking Rojas potentially overhearing – the man looked unconscious, but it was obvious Bravo 2 didn’t want to risk it. Mimicking his brothers, he shuffled closer – eyes on their surroundings while listening in.

“This may be a black op, Jase – but we don’t execute in cold blood,” Ray growled. “We got what we wanted, it’s time to leave.”

“He’s a murderer, Ray,” Jason retorted. “We can’t let him go free.”

“Guys we need to get a move on,” Trent interrupted, practically vibrating on the spot and looking around anxiously. “The longer we stay here...”

“We know who he is, what he looks like - we’ll take Rojas out in a _sanctioned_ mission,” Ray continued, shoving Jason’s shoulder in warning when Bravo 1 looked away. “Jase. Rojas never pulled a gun on us – he was unarmed when we took him down. Even you know Lindell would have an issue with it. Besides, this place is like the Wild West. The chance for a power play? The streets’ll take care of him.”

Jason growled again, but holstered his sidearm and grabbed his primary gun once more. “Works for me. Let’s move.”

Throwing Rojas one last look of disdain, Brock hefted his gun higher and followed his brothers up an alley. The surrounding area that was once quiet was now filled with yelling and gunfire, signs that the militia was closing in. Fast.

_“Well howdy boys! Where am I picking you gentlemen up from this fine evening?”_

Brock looked up at the call, eyes searching for the chopper that was inbound but unable to see or hear it. Jason had been less than impressed when he found out who their pilot was – apparently she was the one who’d flown Bravo to Tenerife way back when, and her cavalier attitude hadn’t gone down well with the mighty Bravo 1 at all. Despite that being seven months ago now, his hesitation hadn’t faded in the slightest.

As Lisa had pointed out with a too wide smile, Bravo got what they were given, and they were given her.

“Snow! We’re at the top of the favela surrounded by militia – bring the chopper to the market, over.”

 _“Roger!”_ The pilot chirped, and he smothered his smile at how cheerful she sounded. It was probably doing Jason’s head in. He liked her already. _“I’m on the way!”_

“Everyone get ready!” Ray yelled as they approached a clearing – a group of shacks surrounding it and towered over by a massive power pylon. “Lock and load!”

Guns cocked, they approached the area as a group; weapons raised and on high alert for the people they could hear closing in. “Let’s do this!” Sonny shouted, bumping his fist against Clay’s before breaking right. Bumping fists with Trent, he followed the Texan to the pylon – only to sprint to and dive behind the waist high brick wall when militia seemingly burst forth from nowhere and open fired.

“TANGOS AT GROUND LEVEL, DEAD AHEAD!” Ray roared, diving behind the husk of a car, dragging Jason down beside him as bullets sprayed the ground just shy of their intended target. “Cover me, I don’t have a shot!”

He popped up, took out two guys directly opposite him and ducked again. “I count twenty plus foot mobiles!” He reported. “We need to get out of here!”

“We’ve gotta get to the helicopter!” Jason shouted, ducking back behind cover when a tango took aim at him. “Head through that gate to the market! Move!”

He made it all of two meters before he was forced behind cover once again. Popping up, he took out two more men only to duck when multiple men to his right fired on him. “Foot-mobiles on the rooftops, closing in fast from the south!” He yelled, perturbed by just how many men there seemed to be. They hadn’t been there two seconds ago – nor when their boss was screaming himself hoarse fifteen minutes before that. Something about this situation didn’t sit right, but he didn’t have time to think what that could mean because he was too busy trying not to die.

“Tangos moving in low from the south-east!” Clay replied. The blond was hunkered down behind a brick wall and was picking guys off as quickly as they appeared. Peering around the corner, Brock spied the trio Clay had been referring to and took a shot at the middle one, pulling back when the guy dropped with a shriek and ducked again so his buddies couldn’t get a line on him.

“Tango on the front balcony, second floor!” Trent barked, taking aim from where he was sheltered. “He’s outta my line of sight! Jase, you see him?”

“I’ve got a visual!”

“Clay! Contact at your three o’clock!”

“Got him! Where the hell are they all coming from?!”

Crawling across the ground, he took shelter behind yet another wall and set up a shot – methodically eliminating the guys that littered the rooftops. Something wooden nearby exploded, followed by the sound of screeching tires. A quick check around the corner confirmed his suspicions. “Technical comin’ in from the south!” he yelled, flicking to his grenade launcher and firing at the bed of the truck. The guys who had been onboard threw themselves away from it – screaming at each other as they scrambled for cover. The driver and his passenger didn’t get out quickly enough, and were killed in the explosion.

“Nice shot Broccoli!” Sonny whooped, but his praise was drowned out by Jason’s: “We’ve got another technical! Take it out!”

Rolling his eyes, he reloaded his launcher, popped up and joined Trent and Ray in firing grenades into the second truck. It blew to pieces, and those near the vehicle were killed by the shrapnel. He took out the two guys that had lost their footing because of the explosion, and clipped a third as he disappeared over a wall.

“Well that was a bit of an overkill,” Sonny laughed, only to yelp and duck when the cinderblock beside his head shattered. “Fuck you asshole!” He yelled, popping back up and eliminating the tango who tried his luck.

“You all good?!” He asked, eyes flicking to the Texan to check he wasn’t wounded. “Sonny, you good?!” he said, slightly louder when the Texan didn’t respond straight away.

“All good!” his brother replied before tapping him on the shoulder. “Move up!”

The responding gunfire had lessoned as they slowly advanced on the clearing, and soon enough they were sprinting down the small alleyway and appearing on another street – and right into another group of militia.

“Keep pushing for the evac point!” Jason yelled as they all took cover and engaged the hostiles. “Go! Go! Go!”

“Target taking cover behind the refrigerator!” Ray added, diving behind a low wall when someone aimed a machine gun his way. “I don’t have a shot!”

Sliding up to Ray, he yelled “Flashbang!” in warning before lobbing one into the yard they were heading into. Screams broke out, and Bravo popped up from their various hiding spots and open fired on the men stumbling around – including the one behind the refrigerator.

“Let’s go, let’s go! We’ve got to push through these streets to the market!”

Switching to a fresh magazine, he boosted himself over the wall and sprinted to a seemingly random barricade that had been set up in the field, ears attuned to the sound of his brothers’ close on his heels. Yelling surrounded them, as did gunfire – but they picked the militia off and thereby hopefully making a dent in their ranks.

Doorways, balconies, rooftops – they kept coming, and Bravo kept taking them down as they moved closer to the buildings; finding three alleyways that dissected the group of shacks.

“Ray, you and Sonny go right, Trent and Clay middle, Brock and I will go left,” Jason ordered. “Rally on the other side.”

Acknowledging the instructions, they all peeled off; Jason following close on his heels as they made their way forward. A quick glance to the other pairs confirmed they were entering their own sections – then they were gone. Turning his attention to his own area, he was relieved to see that the alley was made up of nothing but walls. No doors, no windows – nowhere that could be a prime ambush position, which had him quicken his pace. The sooner they got through and regrouped, the better.

They reached the end of the alley – eyes and guns trained on the building ahead and ready for trouble. So focused he was, it was sheer luck that he wasn’t decapitated by the man who suddenly appeared from around the corner, swinging a machete. He released his gun and ducked as the blade swung at his neck; grunting when he was slammed into a brick wall – hands wrapped around those of his assailant’s as he tried to fend him off.

No sooner was he wrestling with the man, then he was dropping to the ground – the tip of a knife stabbing through his throat and spraying him with blood. He looked down, stunned – before he realised Jason was in front of him and shaking his shoulder.

“Brock? Brock! You good?”

He nodded, wiping away the blood that had sprayed his face and rearming himself. “I’m good,” he confirmed. “Let’s go.”

Giving him one last look, Jason nodded and led them forward; around the corner and straight into the thick of things once again. Their brothers were hunkered down at various vantage points further up the road, firing on the militia who were once again swarming like ants from the buildings.

Spying an open doorway, he tapped Bravo 1 on the shoulder. “Jase, I’m going left!”

“Right behind you!”

He hurled a flashbang through the door and sprinted over the moment it went off. Three men were stumbling around when he got inside, shouting rapidly in Portuguese and he dropped them quickly before clearing the rest of the shack. As soon as Jason joined him, they proceeded to clear the next three conjoined buildings.

“All Bravo elements be advised, 5 and I are clearing the buildings on the left side of the street!”

They ran over a walkway into another building – but not before Jason tossed another stun grenade inside. _“Copy 1!”_ Trent replied as they made entry, dropping the tangos that had been sheltering there. _“We see you!”_

They entered, took out four men and left again. They burst out onto a balcony, and he and Jason fired grenades into the building on the opposite side of the street they watched a group run into. “Someone lay down fire on the intersection!” Jason yelled, jumping the short drop back onto the street. With one last look up the road that his brothers had cleared, taking advantage of the higher view point but seeing nothing, Brock joined them.

“Let’s move before reinforcements get here!” Ray yelled, leading the charge up the road.

There was a roar overhead, and Brock looked up – eyes widening at the sight of a jumbo jet flying low level just past the Favela.

“The hell!” Sonny yelled, sounding baffled and slightly out of breath. “I could see _people_ in those windows!”

Ignoring the startled outburst, Jason thumbed on his radio. “Snow! We’re approaching the market! These guys are crawling outta the woodwork here; we’re coming in hot!”

 _“Copy,”_ their pilot replied. _“Be advised, I’ve had a few militia take pot-shots at me with RPG’s – they’re well-armed, and not bad shots either.”_

“Rog’, let me know if it gets bad and you have to move!” Releasing the mic, he took point as they approached a small field - dropping two tangos that had appeared to their right. “We’re almost at the market – move up!”

“Jase! Multiple tangos in the open!” Ray yelled, only to grab the back of Jason’s vest and throw them both backwards with a roar. “RPG!”

The broken down car that had been abandoned beside one of the buildings blew sky high, and it was only thanks to Bravo 2’s quick reflexes that he and Jason weren’t killed in the subsequent explosion. Racing forward, Brock took point along with Sonny – taking out the guys who appeared while Clay and Trent helped the pair to their feet.

“Talk to me!” Trent ordered, running quick hands over Jason in search of injuries. “You good?”

“I’m good,” Jason confirmed, grabbing his gun again. Ray nodded when the medic looked over at him. “A bit singed, but good.”

“Sonny!” Brock yelled, taking out a tango who appeared on a balcony with an RPG. The guy dropped, and the missile went firing off into the distance. “Target two o’clock!”

“Got him!” The Texan replied, before dropping said tango. “Sunova - Incoming technical!”

The others joined them, so he and Sonny charged forward – diving behind the brick wall and popping up to take out the guy on the back of the ute with yet another mounted .50cal. The weaponry these guys had was astounding. And worrying.

Pushing up, they eventually found themselves at the edge of the market – stalls crammed in every which way, goods abandoned and spilled across what should’ve been a tidy benchtop and caged chickens screaming and flapping in a panic from all the gunfire around them. Men were running around, darting between the tables with AK’s clutched in their hands. “Squad! Spread out and cut through the market!” Jason yelled. “Move!”

Changing out his magazine, Brock did a quick count of what he had left. Four were all that remained – and those were ones he’d collected earlier, because he’d run out of the ones he’d brought with him. He had a couple more flashbangs and grenades, and two more grenades for his launcher, plus his secondary gun and his knife. It wasn’t an amazing amount to have when locked in a fierce battle such as this, but it’d have to do.

He broke right, darted around a table and dropped a guy who popped up from behind one of the stalls. As the man fell his finger squeezed the trigger of his AK-47, forcing Brock to dive for cover. The chickens in the cages to his left suffered the brunt of the bullets, and he winced as chickens, feathers, blood and screams exploded around him. “Jesus,” he muttered, creeping forward so he was better hidden – only to dive to the side when he realised there was a tango standing on the roof of the building above him. “This isn’t a gang – it’s a goddamn army!”

“Ain’t that the truth!” Sonny groused, having followed him to the right. “Shit!” He yelped when a grenade appeared at his feet, before grabbing it and tossing it back through the next section of the market. They both ducked as tin and concrete went flying, before pushing forwards again.

“Tango coming out of the shack on the right!” Sonny yelled, and Brock swung his gun around as movement caught his eye; dropping the man who’d appeared. “Nice shot Brock!”

 _“Contacts above us at eleven o’clock, firing blind!”_ Ray reported. The others had disappeared down different alleyways, but a look upwards revealed men jumping down from a rooftop onto a balcony and taking up defensive positions.

Changing to his grenade launcher, he lined up a shot and sent it straight at them. The concrete crumbled, and bodies went flying in all directions. There was a rumble overhead as he moved up, and soon he and Sonny were back with their brothers.

“There’s Snow’s Pave Low!” Clay yelled, pointing upwards. Brock looked, found the helicopter coming in to land nearby.

“Let’s go!” Ray yelled. “We need to get out of here!”

They sprinted through a building, bursting through doorways as they raced to the other side. “Snow!” Jason yelled into his radio, leaping over a downed chair and towards a door that led outside. “Eta twenty seconds! Be ready for immediate dust-off!”

 _“That may not be fast enough!”_ Snow replied, the concern in her voice evident. _“I can see more militia closing in on the market!”_

“Pick up the pace, let’s go!”

Two RPG’s suddenly fired from the rooftops at the helicopter, and Brock was amazed by the skill in which she avoided them. She’d been hovering over a group of shacks in preparation to set down, but she was now pulling away rapidly. _“It’s too hot! We won’t survive this landing!”_

“Wave off, wave off! We’ll meet you at the secondary LZ instead!” Jason replied. “Go!”

_“Very well! I will meet you there, good luck!”_

They burst through to the courtyard, taking out whomever tried to stop them and bolted for the shack with the lowest roof.

“Clay, Brock; you’re on boosting duties!”

He nodded, and hurried to the edge of the building. Sliding to a stop, he braced and put his hands out, winking at Clay who’d set up beside him and was pulling a face. “What?”

“Why do we always get stuck on boosting duty?” Clay groused, mimicking him and cupping his hands. “I swear it’s always us.”

“It’s cause you’re the youngest, Bam-Bam,” Sonny replied, placing his foot in Clay’s hand. “Let your superiors go first.”

“It’s cause no one can lift your fat ass off the ground,” Clay retorted, grunting loudly as he took the Texan’s weight. Brock snorted loudly, unable to hold it back because he was too busy giving Jason his own boost. “You wearing your lead boxers again or something?! Holy shit man.”

“Imma make you pay for that!” Sonny growled as he took point on the rooftop. “And I’d rather lead briefs than your tighty whiteys.”

“Na, Rebecca got me some camo ones!” Brock gave him a high five before extending his hands for Trent, grumbling when the medic clipped him over the head on his way up. Clay braced for Ray, and with a shove they helped both brothers join the other two.

“Camo or commando?” He asked, grinning when Clay went pink. “Ha, doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Come on Commando Clay, up you go.”

“Shuddup Broccoli,” Clay grumbled, but put his foot in his hands. Brock lifted upwards, and Clay scrambled onto the roof before turning and lying down, extending his hand. “I thought you were on my side.”

“Always,” he replied, using his feet on the wall to help propel himself upwards. “I’ve always got your back, brother – but that doesn’t mean I won’t take the shit outta you!”

Clay brought his gun around and opened his mouth to retort, but the reply was cut off when a building above them exploded courtesy of a poorly aimed RPG.

Their respite, as short as it had been, was over.

“Go, go, go!” Ray yelled, and they all dived in opposite directions when yet another RPG hurtled their way. “We need to move or we’re dead!”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Jason ordered, and they all took off at a dead sprint across the rooftops – jumping and rolling as the heights of the buildings demanded.

Brock raised his gun, firing at the few men that appeared on the edges of the buildings and nearly face planted when a sheet of corrugated iron slid out from under him. Clay grabbed his shoulder to steady him, and it was only thanks to their skills that neither toppled the other. Just as he righted himself, he and Clay spotted two men with RPG’s. He and his brother slid to a stop, took aim and dropped the tangos before taking off after the remainder of their team who were now at least a rooftop ahead.

_“My friend, from up here it looks like the whole village is trying to kill you.”_

“Real helpful Snow,” Jason snapped, and boy did Bravo 1 sound annoyed. Brock couldn’t blame him, really. It was all well and good for the helo to be hovering overhead – admittedly it was dodging a seemingly constant barrage of RPG missiles – and another entirely to be on the ground in the thick of things. Militia were swarming the rooftops, firing god knew what at them and funneling them… somewhere. “Just get ready to pick us up!”

“We’re running outta rooftop!” Sonny yelled. The statement wrenched his attention away from what was happening around them and much to his horror, the Texan was right. There was maybe a hundred feet or so to the edge of the buildings they were currently running across, and what appeared to be a large gap that dissected these shacks and the next lot that Snow was setting the Pave Low down on.

If that gap was wider than it looked, they were all goners.

As though hearing his thoughts, Jason shook his head and put on a burst of speed. “We can make it!” their leader yelled, just as an RPG slammed into a building to their right and sent debris exploding outwards. “GO, GO, GO!”

Suddenly, Ray was leaping from the rooftop – then Sonny, then Trent, then Jason. They’d reached the edge of the buildings, and it was just he and Clay bringing up the rear.

“C’mon Broccoli, we’ve got this!” Clay shouted, and with a yell they both pushed off the edge with all their might.

“RPG!”

They would’ve made it. They _would’ve made it_ , if not for that damned missile that hit the house closest to them.

Unbalanced by the blast wave and flying debris he came up short, his chest hitting the edge of the roof making him cry out at the sudden impact – pain erupting in his ribs and the air exploding from his lungs. Panicked movement next to him meant that Clay had suffered the same fate, and they both scrambled to find a hand hold – _anything_ that would stop them from going over the side.

Because his luck was on point with shitty situations as per usual, he really shouldn’t have tried to save himself. The sheet of iron gave way, the rusted nails too weak to hold their combined weight and they yelped as they both toppled to the ground below.

The last glimpse Brock had of his brothers was of Jason and Ray – their eyes wide in shock as they dove at them both in an effort to grab them - eyes widening even further as their fingers missed them by a hair’s width before they disappeared from view entirely.

* * *

Ringing in his ears was what he heard first.

Gunfire and yelling were second.

Eyes snapping open, Brock groaned and pressed a hand against his head – willing away the spots that were dancing frantically in front of him. He hadn’t lost consciousness, he didn’t think - but wowzers was there a band playing in his head. “Holy crap,” he muttered, grimacing when he realised blood was trickling down his face and into his eyes. “Ow.”

“Owwwww.”

Jolting in alarm, he realised he wasn’t alone. Clay was there. Wait, _Clay was there_. Why was -

Oh shit.

Awareness of the situation and exactly where they were came back as quickly and as violently as the _thumpthumpthump_ of rotor blades and the gunfire that surrounded them. They were still in Brazil, still in enemy territory – and now they were separated from the rest of their team; trapped in the bowels of the Favela while the others were somewhere overhead.

“Clay!” he said, leaning over and shaking the blond’s shoulder, shaking harder when Clay swatted at him. “We ain’t at home, brother! Open your eyes, we need to move!”

“Wha -”

“We’re still in the Favela!

Arms and legs flailed as Clay suddenly sat upright – wincing at what was likely his own band playing for him as he looked at him, eyes wide. “Ah shit.”

 _“C’mon goldilocks, do you copy!”_ He jumped, eyes widening when he realised the squawking that was coming from his radio were words, rather than a part of the noise around them. “ _Broccoli, you hear me?”_

“Bravo -” he coughed, the pain in his chest making him wince. Please don’t be busted ribs. Trent would kill him if they were. “Bravo 5 receiving!”

 _“Brock!”_ Sonny yelled back, the relief in his voice evident. _“We can see them from the chopper! They’re coming for you, dozens of ‘em!”_

He looked around and oh yeah – there were a lot of guys and they were coming their way. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed Clay’s arm and hauled him upright when the blond was too slow to move. “Shake it off!” he ordered. “I need you with me!”

_“Brock!”_

“I’m with you,” Clay replied, grabbing their weapons from where they’d fallen and handing his rifle over. The sound of the helicopter grew even louder, but they ignored it in favour of the RPG that was racing their way. “Oh shit! RUN!”

 _“There’s too many of them!”_ Jason yelled as they bolted through the doorway directly ahead, the RPG tearing apart the building they’d just been in front of, bullets tearing through the walls and biting at their heels. _“Get the hell out of there and find a way to the rooftops! Move!”_

“The fuck do they think we’re doing?!” Clay panted. They’d left one shack, only to race through a short alleyway, down a flight of stairs and into another one. “Strolling through Central Park?”

_“Boys, we’re circling but I can’t see you! You’ve got to get to the rooftops!”_

“Example A of a hovering – literally in this case – smother hen,” he gasped, grimacing as his chest screamed in protest. It didn’t feel like his ribs were broken, or even fractured, which was a small mercy indeed; but they sure as hell felt bruised. He’d be miffed if said bruising wasn’t spectacular after all this. “This is what dealing with him is like. At least you get off lightly.”

“It’s because trouble knows where to find – gah!” Clay went stumbling forwards when his foot caught on something, and it took everything he had to keep his brother upright at the speed in which they were moving. Bullets ripped holes through the thin walls, destroyed pictures and furniture without prejudice. The fact neither of them had been hit yet was a miracle in and of itself, although the fact the militia couldn’t see them was the reason for their luck so far.

“You were saying?!” He laughed, before pointing suddenly. “There! Let’s go!”

They found a set of stairs in the shack they were currently racing through, and took them two at a time. The bullets hadn’t let up in the slightest – if anything they were getting worse, and more frequent. The sooner they got to the rooftop and out of this hell forsaken rat maze, the better.

Suddenly, daylight. Charging forwards, they tumbled out onto a balcony and jumped the barrier – found themselves back on the rooftops and they sprinted towards the chopper that was hovering just ahead.

_“Clay! Brock! I see you! Jump down to the rooftops and meet us south of your position! Go!”_

They did as they were ordered. The pain in his chest was growing steadily worse, but when his choice was pain or be killed? Well. He ignored it – dedicated all his focus into putting one foot in front of the other – leaping onto higher platforms, across questionable walkways to the balcony the helicopter was now positioned over.

 _“Boys! We’re running on fumes here!”_ Jason advised, and with an irritated yell he pushed himself harder. “ _You got thirty seconds! Run!”_

“If anyone tries to make us run any courses over the next two months, I’ll fucking kill them!” Clay screeched, clearing the gap between two buildings. “This is bullshit; how dare he give us a countdown!”

He grinned but didn’t reply, knowing full well Clay would be running his usual circuit the day after he got home.

_“Left! Turn left and jump down!”_

Pivoting on the balls of their feet, they broke left. They were now running across a balcony that wrapped halfway around a building and ended at a brick wall – but there was a roof right next to them that slanted down and went straight into a massive, single pane window which was perfect for what they needed to get away. Militia were now scrambling over from the opposite side and setting up firing positions to take them out.

_“Come on!”_

Without thinking, he grabbed Clay and pulled him over the edge. They hit the iron hard and slid down – saving themselves from being seriously hurt by going feet first and smashing the glass as they hurtled through it. He tumbled over once, before leaping up and grabbing Clay. They bolted out of the house and onto the deck where the helicopter was hovering just opposite.

The building sat on the edge of the favela and the hill – the deck ending at the edge of the cliff. Snow had put the Pave Low a couple of feet away from it, and there was a rope ladder hanging down with Jason and Trent gathered in the doorway waiting for them. He shoved the blond ahead of him, forcing Clay to make the jump first. Knowing his brother, if the choice had been left to him then Clay would’ve done the martyr act; allowed himself to be killed if it meant the others got out safely.

Brock had no intention of dying today, and he wouldn’t let Clay think it was an option, either.

Taking the hint, Clay sped up and Brock dropped back just the smallest amount – Clay needed enough space to get on and start climbing without him literally slamming into him.

“Jump for it!”

“RPG!”

Trent’s roar echoed around them, somehow louder than the noise of the helo as it revved and swerved off to the side. He sprinted forwards, grabbing Clay by the vest and hauling him backwards to safety. There was no way Clay could have aborted his jump, and he knew that this moment would replay in his nightmares for months to come – Dream Clay slipping from his grasp and plummeting to his death while he was helpless to do anything except watch.

Those thoughts were for the dead of night, though, not now - and so he hauled Clay over to a low wall and they took up a defensive position – firing steadily and taking out any hostile they could see.

And they could see a lot.

“Changing mag!” Clay said as he ducked behind the wall to do just that. Brock covered him, lobbing a frag grenade as far as he could and nodding when it sent a group of guys flying. “What the hell are they doing?!” The blond yelped. “Brock, they’re leaving!”

“Radio and ask!” He ordered, dropping three guys and swapping to his handgun when his rifle clicked empty. He swapped his gun with his brother’s so Clay could put a fresh mag in for him and continued taking the militia out.

“1, 6 – what’s the go?”

_“Take cover 6; repositioning for pick up!”_

Clay growled at the somewhat useless instruction, and Brock rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like there was much else they could do right now. “Rog!”

Trading guns again, Brock continued firing and Spenser joined him. “Jase we could use a hand thinning these guys out!” He barked into his mouthpiece, lobbing his final grenade at the militia and toppling a building with the explosion. These guys hadn’t stopped coming – in fact if he hadn’t known better then he would have said the whole of Brazil was trying to kill them right now, there was that many people.

 _“Already on it Brock!”_ Jason replied, and the sound of gunfire overhead was like music to his ears.

_“Brock! Clay! It’s now or never!”_

“Copy!” He replied, looking at Clay and motioning with his head. “Clay, go!”

Nodding, Bravo 6 turned on his heel and ran for the rope ladder, and he was about to follow when Clay slid to a stop and fired on a man who had made it onto their balcony, an RPG launcher on his shoulder and taking aim.

“RPG!” Jason roared, and Brock watched in horror as the helicopter listed to the side and headed down the mountain.

“Shit! Clay, we need to move – now!”

“Where the hell are they going?!” Clay hurried up to him, and they sprinted across the balcony for a building on the opposite side. “They aren’t seriously leaving us, are they?!”

“They’re outta fuel, Snow doesn’t have a choice!”

_“Brock! Clay! Find a rally point; we’re coming back for you!”_

“Copy that!” Clay replied. “We’re moving up; we’ll maintain radio contact!” They darted around a corner, sprinting down a narrow alleyway that looked like it opened onto a street. “What do we do now, Brock?”

Looking left then right, Brock found a car that looked like it might actually start, rather than the broken down hunks of shit that seemed to litter the favela. He ran over to it, smashing the window and tearing at the wires underneath. Working a bit of magic, the car spluttered to life. “Get in,” he ordered, yanking the driver’s door open. Clay scrambled into the passenger seat beside him. Flooring it, he sped off, the bullets peppering the rear of the car becoming fainter the further away they moved, but he doubted it would last.

“Brock, what do we do?” Clay asked again, fingers wrapped around his gun and ready to take out anyone that appeared. “Brock?”

“We run,” he replied, gunning the car harder and taking a left at a fork in the road. “We run and pray we make it through the night.”

Bravo would kill them if they didn’t.


	5. O Brothers, Where Art Thou?

**A/N: Phew! That's been a wee gap between updates - sorry about that folks! Good news though, all my uni assignments are now done, so I'm back to writing in my spare time! This was actually meant to have gone up yesterday (it's Thursday morning here in NZ) but I was falling asleep during the proof read, so figured a few more hours wait wouldn't hurt!**

**I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this - we've got more action over the next couple of chapters, so maybe the long breaks are good for you to recover :P**

**As is the running theme for this story, more clips for inspiration! Mission 9 - Neptune's Nest - on the Medal of Honor game is what influenced this - you can watch the clip[here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZVSTffOvBY&ab_channel=19Marksman89), although the specific part is from 13:30 onward! The soundtracks for that mission were [High Ground](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvZbGcX2ckA&ab_channel=Batistuta.rwm) and [H-Hour](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rFDrps8k-A&ab_channel=Batistuta.rwm) if you wanted something to listen to!**

**Special shout out to[Mmccrory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mmccrory), [foreverpadfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverpadfoot), [AllAboutTheStory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory), [Amethyst75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst75), [sakura_21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_21), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [MeldirielErulisse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeldirielErulisse), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [Idk34](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idk34), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [Bball25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bball25), [argallel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argallel), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [summeronice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summeronice), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [hayes14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayes14), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [AeroWright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroWright), and [strandedchesspiece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece) as well as the 57 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

“Tell me you’ve got eyes on them.”

The door crashed into the wall with the force in which it was opened, and Eric shared a loaded look with Lisa before heading over to intercept what remained of Bravo. After confirming the Pave Low had set down safely in a field, and their CIA contact was en-route with fuel for Snow and to collect his team, he and Lisa had been glued to any satellite imagery they’d been able to get their hands on.

They’d been able to provide directions to the pair for a time, but then the satellite started going out of range of the favela, quickly followed by the radios for Bravo 5 and 6 going dead. She’d tried to raise them on a few different channels, but hadn’t had any luck.

“Yes and no,” he replied calmly in the face of their agitation. “We -”

“The hell does that mean?” Sonny demanded, trying to shove past Ray and Trent but not getting very far when both men moved in front of him, blocking Bravo 3 with their shoulders. “Our brothers are still out there Blackburn; they don’t have time for half-assed intel!”

He looked at the Texan, aware one of his eyebrows had lifted. While he couldn’t hope to compete with Jason’s Eyebrows of DoomTM, he’d been told his No Shit SherlockTM glare was quite intimidating. Point in case, Sonny deflated. Slightly. With the Texan now quiet, he took the opportunity to look at his operators, see what state they were in physically so he could gauge where they were emotionally.

To put it simply, they looked like hell. Dirty, sweaty; covered in grazes and dried blood – they looked like they’d fought an army. They _had_ fought an army, from what he’d been told, and it showed. They were clearly exhausted, running on fumes and clinging to those dregs of energy because two of their team needed them too. But those same two needed their team mates to be at peak levels – and right now, they weren’t.

“We had eyes on Reynolds and Spenser up until ten minutes ago when the satellite passed out of range. Comms with them are down too, so we can’t track them. As of right now, they’re on their own.”

“No they’re not,” Jason countered. “Get the helo refueled and insert us in the area you last saw them. We’ll find ‘em and get them out.”

He’d known that request was coming, and had dreaded it because of the bad news he was about to give. “I’m afraid we can’t do that.” Lisa joined him, and handed Jason the email that had come through not ten minutes prior.

Jason took it from her, and his fury at the orders was evident to see – the others not much better as they read over his shoulder.

“You’re kidding,” Ray said, looking stunned. “Where the hell has this come from?”

“Lindell,” Lisa replied. “According to Mandy’s contact, one of the squads were patrolling a village that looks down into the favela and reported that there appeared to be another turf war going on. The Commissioner has now ordered his men to patrol the outer perimeter of the favela to stop the violence from spilling out into the streets. They’ve been given a kill or capture order – neither of which we can afford happening to any of you.”

“Mandy’s with her contact right now trying to establish just how worried we need to be,” he added. “But as we’re pushing towards nightfall, and the police have ramped up their presence in the vicinity Lindell has grounded Bravo until we have a better idea of what’s happening.”

“And what about Brock and Clay, huh?” Jason snarled, scrunching up the paper in his hand furiously. “We just leave them there, with no overwatch, no ammo and hope they make it out?” 

“As soon as we get the green light you boys are spinning up, but until then you’re going to resupply, get something to eat and rack out. Brock and Clay need you all to be at your best – and right now your current state isn’t good enough.”

“ _This_ isn’t good enough,” Jason retorted, tossing the paper aside and storming over to the computers. They had the footage they’d recorded of the pair frozen on the screen, which Bravo 1 was now glowering at. The feed showed 5 and 6 sprinting down a road, with hostiles right behind them. It wasn’t the best picture, but it could’ve been worse; it could’ve shown the next frame which was of the pair stumbling after what looked like them getting shot. Thankfully, it didn’t. Once again, he probably had Lisa to thank for that.

“They need us, Eric.”

“They’re tier one operators, Jason,” he reminded his Master Chief. “They were trained to survive in places worse than this.”

All four men just looked at him, which made him sigh. Yeah alright, he knew the stupidity in that statement, but it was no less true.

“It’s Brock and Clay.” It was Trent who’d said those simple words as though they should be explanation enough, and the fact it was his medic saying it rather than the others made it so much harder – if Trent was willing to weigh in on any argument, it was generally serious. And he was always right.

He certainly was this time, that was for sure.

He sighed. “I know. I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

“How’s your arm?”

“Burns like a bitch. How’s your side?”

“Same as your arm. Is it weird if I said I don’t know if I want to be found? At this point in my life I feel like facing Trent and Jason is going to be worse than facing the entirety of the militia.”

Clay clapped a hand over his mouth to smother his snort. The last thing they needed were loud noises grabbing the attention of anyone patrolling nearby. Their radios had sustained a fair bit of damage since their fall, and were barely working to the point it was only severe feedback and sore ears they received. So with no radios and no way to communicate with Havoc, they’d done what they could to evade the militia until they could move around in the cover of darkness. The sun had vanished over an hour ago, and they were now waiting for the chance to shift again – hoping their decision to stay put for a while longer would help throw off anyone possibly on lookout.

So, here they were. Hunkered down in a darkened shack, eating what little identifiable canned food they could and tending to their new injuries while waiting for the chance to hopefully escape. “Should we tell them that we fell? They can’t get mad at us for falling over. Happens to everybody.”

Brock tutted. “‘Hey guys, how’ve ya been? Been up to much while you were away? What’s that? Wounds? No, just fell over. Bullet wounds? Don’t be silly, holes in limbs can be caused by more than that you know.’” There was a brief pause, then: “Yeah, that’ll go well Spense; they’ll still get mad.”

He was now biting his lip _and_ pressing on his bullet wound, hoping the pain would overwhelm the need to laugh. Because he wanted to laugh, so much and so damn loudly. This right here is why he adored his friend so much. To people who didn’t know him, Brock was a quiet yet powerful presence. Always there, but always silent and watchful. Get to know him though, and he was one of the funniest, craziest human beings he had ever come across. Anyone else on the team in this situation with him and the mood would’ve been somber, tense and alert and ready for anything – but for Brock? In the middle of the most hostile place in Brazil, probably one of the more hostile places in the world, no ammo, no comms and almost nothing in the way of supplies or support?

Eh. Whatever.

Was this what having nine lives meant? That you could look in the face of danger and laugh because you knew you’d be fine? It was truly incredible.

“At you maybe,” he sniggered. “I can plead innocence. I’m not the trouble magnet.”

“I distinctly recall there being two backpack leashes, not one,” Brock replied, tone utterly dry and making him groan. Damn, he’d forgotten about those. “Seems to me you find trouble quite well on your own.”

“Nuh-uh, trouble only finds me when I’m with you – I don’t have this problem with the others.”

“Yeah, well. You won’t have to worry about that for too much longer,” Brock said, suddenly quiet. “Guess you should make the most of it while you can.”

Frowning, Clay looked at him as much as the sliver of moonlight through the window would allow – which wasn’t all that much. “What’s that mean?” He asked, nudging the brunet gently when he didn’t reply. “Floret?”

“Ugh, don’t you start with those names,” Brock grumbled, nudging him back. “It’s bad enough when Kit does it.”

“Then tell me what you mean.” He didn’t actually need Brock to tell him what he meant; he already knew – because how could he not? His decision to pursue a different career path had been begrudgingly accepted by the others – but Brock was the only one who had supported him from the day he announced it. Maybe it was because Brock knew a little of what it was like to make such a big career choice – choosing to delay his enlistment to the SEALs so he could become a handler, or maybe it was because Brock only ever wanted his friends to be happy. Probably both, because that was who Brock was.

“State 21 is going to involve a lot less death-defying feats, and more death by papers,” Brock said. “It’s just gunna be weird not having you with us, is all.”

“It’s not like I’m going to be ‘gone’ gone, I’ll still be able to see you guys – I’ll still be a part of Bravo.” But, he realised suddenly, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been so focused on what lay ahead, about making a difference higher up that he hadn’t actually stopped to think about the effect it would have, would _really_ have on his place on Bravo. State 21 meant that his day as a pack brother would end; his path would veer one way while his brothers would veer another. And while they would always be a part of his life, their military paths would never fully converge again.

If someone had asked him, back when he’d made the decision if he’d be okay with that he would’ve said yes, absolutely and without a doubt. But that was before Tenerife; before someone, somewhere, had done their level best to kill one of his brother’s – and had very nearly succeeded. It was before they’d uncovered a group that – if given the chance – would unleash chaos around the world, and meant that no matter where it happened, Bravo would be in the thick of it; because they were the best.

It wasn’t to say that he believed himself to be the best. No, that attitude from Green Team had fizzled out pretty damn quickly when he realised what being a SEAL, being a brother actually meant. But Bravo were the best, which meant while chasing this new threat they could be sent into a time sensitive situation without all the intel, which could then result in him losing multiple brothers. It would leave him wondering if they would’ve survived had he stayed on the team until these people were brought to justice.

He sighed quietly. These thoughts weren’t anything new, the occasional thread of wondering that was often banished to the back of his mind to be thought about later. Only he never did, and now the realisation of what this new path was asking of him was... unpleasant, to say the least.

“Clay?”

He blinked, shaking his head slightly when he realised he’d gotten lost in it. “Huh?”

“I -” even in the darkness, he saw Brock stiffen. He frowned, only to freeze when he heard the soft scuff of a boot directly behind the wall he was leaning against. A hand wrapped around his wrist, and he looked over to see Brock with a finger pressed against his lips, before he tugged once and released.

Crawling as silently as he could while putting minimal strain on his arm was hard, but he managed. As did Brock with his bruised ribs and bullet graze on his hip – but it was slow going for them both.

They were following a path they’d mapped out earlier; close to furniture and darkened sections of the room that ensured they stayed out of view of the windows. It was a good thing too, because it meant they were able to move quickly; and as there was now the sound of multiple shoes, and what sounded like the slide of a gun bolt they needed every advantage they could get.

Just as he and Brock rounded the couch, they were forced to go completely flat when a face appeared in the window – then a second appeared. He swallowed harshly. They were well and truly screwed. How they’d been found, he had no idea – but it looked like their luck had run out. “We need to move,” he muttered. “They know we’re here.”

“Let’s go,” Brock breathed, and throwing caution to the wind they scrambled for the exit as quickly and as silently as they could. They moved, and bullets tore through the building. “SHIT! STAY DOWN AND MOVE!”

The time for stealth was over. Part of the room exploded to their left, concrete and tin raining down on them and exposing them to flames and smoke. Clay looked around, coughing harshly – and was a fraction too slow to completely dodge the large chunk of concrete hurtling towards him.

It clipped his head, and he could feel it split the skin on his temple – felt the pain explode in his eye, bright and sharp, and he cried out in surprise.

“Clay!”

Hands were suddenly on him, and he blinked; looking up into Brock’s eyes as his brother grabbed him under the arms. “Clay, we got targets! Take ‘em out, I got you!”

His head hurt. God it throbbed. But the panic in Brock’s voice was enough to spur him on – enough to push the pain down deep and lock it away so they could make it out. He fumbled the strap to his side arm, and grit his teeth as he forced his hand to cooperate. His fingers wrapped around the handle and he drew it, flicking off the safety and aiming it at the hole that the dust had yet to settle in.

Someone ran in, yelling – and he dropped them. A second person appeared, and he dropped them too.

“Keep shooting!” Brock yelled, and he did his best to help his brother by using his boots to push against the concrete; propelling them faster now that Brock didn’t have to take all his weight.

Suddenly, Brock’s hands disappeared, and for one long, horrific second he thought his brother had been killed. “Brock?!” He yelled, coughing harshly when the smoke and dust tore at his throat. “BROCK?!”

Hands grabbed him again, and he was suddenly flat on his back and being dragged through a hole. He blinked at the stars and buildings above him, and looked slightly further to see Brock’s soot-stained face. “You good?” Brock asked, yanking him up off the ground and quickly checking him over. “Clay, are you hit?!”

He shook his head, and immediately regretted it – the world lurching sickeningly and the pain in his head flaring again. He fought to keep his stomach in check, because vomiting was the last thing he needed right then. There was gunfire behind them, and yelling – lots and lots of yelling. Brock grabbed his arm just as movement caught his eye, and they sprinted down the street; the militia once again on their heels.

“We need to move, Clay!” Brock yelled, and they both threw their arms over their heads as a building above them exploded; rubble raining down hard and fast on them. “Havoc this is Bravo 5; do you read me?!”

He winced when his own radio gave him nothing but static, and Brock snarled aloud – a sound that was so unusual for his usually calm friend. “It could be our receivers?” he yelled, praying that was the issue. “Just not getting a response, but maybe we’re getting through?”

Brock nodded, and tried the radio once more. “Havoc, this is 5; we’re on foot, heading south - we’ve been compromised - I say again, we have been compromised! Help would be good right about now, out!”

Suddenly, Brock stumbled as a large chunk of concrete smashed into his back, and he grabbed his brother to steady him, wincing at the new pain in his shoulder from where he too had been struck. “Fuck I hope they heard you!” he yelled, spotting an opening between buildings and tugging Brock down it. “We need to get outta here!”

The next thing he knew, he was on the ground; gasping for air. Fire burned through his back, and he could hardly breathe. He had no idea what happened, figured he’d get to find out once they lost their tail – but he was still upright and breathing.

“C...Clay.” He looked at Brock, found his brother dragging himself up off the ground. Whatever had happened, it had gotten them both – but it hadn’t kept either of them down. “We need... to move.”

He groaned and pushed off the ground, grunting at the pain in his back. He’d felt this pain before, back in India when he’d taken a round to his chest plate – which made him think the same had happened, but this time from behind. Rebecca was going to have fun with putting the medical cream on his back – hopefully she didn’t freak out as much as Stella had.

They started running again, and it felt like it was endless, but maybe that was on account of the growing pains and the fact that their pursuers hadn’t given up, in fact - the yelling of their chasers was growing louder. Rounding a corner, they slid to a stop when they found themselves at the edge of... something. It could’ve been a cliff, or perhaps the lower level of the favela was directly below them. Turning, he realised with a sickening clarity that they were backed into a corner; stuck between people who _would_ kill them, or a drop that _could_ kill them - and framed by buildings that had nothing they could climb. They’d been led like rats through a maze – and they’d hit a dead end.

He looked at Brock, saw the indecisiveness that he was feeling on his brother’s face. “Bullets, or broken bones?” He said, glancing over his shoulder at the yelling that was growing ever louder.

Brock straightened slightly, nodded once. “Bones heal. Let’s do this!”

He nodded back, and without stopping to think they both leaped off the side.

The fall was short, thank god, but it wasn’t without pain. It felt like he hit everything he possibly could’ve on the way down, and by the time he hit the ground he could barely see – the pain and dizziness blocking everything out.

Clay tried to push to his hands and knees, but neither would support him. He tried to lift his head, but it felt like it was made of concrete. Turning it slightly, he tried to get his bearings; tried to work out their next point of attack so they could get away.

Then he spotted Brock.

Bravo 5 was sprawled face down on the dirt, unmoving. The moonlight was poor, and he could hardly see if his brother was in one piece – let alone breathing. He tried to crawl over to him; he needed to check on Brock, make sure he was okay, but the pain was excruciating -

There was a scuff of boots, and he realised that they weren’t alone; that the militia had caught up with them and were now circling, moving closer. There were multiple people talking, but the words were like water, washing over and away from him the harder he tried to listen.

Someone crouched in front of him, and he looked up into a face that, while partially obscured by shadow, memory told him he should know. The movement made the nausea surge, and darkness rushed in to meet him.

The last thing he felt was his face dropping onto the packed dirt beneath him. The last thing he heard was laughter.

* * *

Rubbing at her eyes, trying to rid them of the persistent stinging, Lisa exhaled heavily and refocused on the screens in front of her.

To say she was tired was an understatement. A snatch and grab mission, this was not – despite the fact it should have been. The boys had come up against heavy resistance in the favela, more so than Mandy’s intel had suggested, and they were now two members short; Bravo’s youngest still somewhere in the bowels of that godforsaken shanty town and entirely alone.

What made it worse was that she had no idea where they were. Ronnie had been able to show her on a map their last known location, and the direction they’d taken before they’d disappeared, but that was all they knew – and it had been hours ago, which meant they could be anywhere. It didn’t help that since returning, the rest of the team had hovered over her shoulder, all staring at her computer as though expecting a photo of Brock and Clay to magically appear – perhaps one of them standing on a hill waving with a ‘we are here’ sign giving their coordinates.

She snorted. Yeah, that’d happen. Although it’d make her life ten times easier, that was for sure.

No, all she’d had to work with was whatever satellite was passing overhead; and no sooner had she gotten the settings to where she’d needed them then it was leaving the area again, so she only had a few images to study at any one time – and none had been detailed enough to glean information from.

“Any luck?”

She looked over shoulder and shook her head at Blackburn as he approached. “The favela’s busy, but there’s no one acting in a way that could be them.” She knew this, because after an hour on the phone with Lindell Eric handed her a slip of paper with a URL that led her to a satellite that had been repositioned overhead – and was staying there until she said otherwise. Which meant that she had thermal imaging that looked right down into the target area; which meant that she could, maybe, find Brock and Clay.

Having a permanent satellite was a godsend, and where Lindell got it from she had no idea, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Blackburn dropped into the empty seat next to her and ran a hand down his face. “They may have dug in for the evening; figured it was safer than trying to make it out.”

She pursed her lips, but didn’t reply. It was a logical thought, and entirely possible, but it didn’t sit right with her. Her silence must’ve spoken volumes, because Eric shifted in his chair so he could look at her better. “You don’t agree.”

“No, I don’t,” she admitted, before turning the screen slightly to show him. “The activity in the favela is still high; the militia is actively looking for them, and the boys will know that too. They can’t afford to stay wherever they’ve hunkered down – if they do, they’ll eventually be found.”

The look Eric gave her wasn’t critical, or disbelieving – if anything it was... proud. “Well then, Ensign Davis,” he said, and she knew immediately she’d hit the nail on the head when she saw his small smirk. He hadn’t thought for a second that Bravo 5 and 6 would stay still – he knew they’d keep moving as much as they could to evade their pursuers. He was just testing her, as he usually did, because he only ever wanted her to be the best she could be – and throwing scenarios like this at her where she had to enter the mind of her operators was the perfect opportunity to do so. “Where could they be hiding?”

She looked at her screens again, the challenge reinvigorating her and focusing her mind. “It’ll be dark in thirty minutes, and as they last ate before spinning up they’ll be hungry. They’re also short of ammunition, so they’ll want to find supplies – which means they’ll look for a building that can give them both. They won’t want to be in an area that can be approached from multiple angles, either – at least not without them knowing about it, and they’ll want multiple escape options if they need it.” Looking at the imagery in front of her, she groaned. Unfortunately, everything was crammed in next to each other and overlapping. What she’d described could’ve been every damn house there.

“That’s a spot-on assessment, Lisa,” Eric said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “But like me, you’ve realised that it could be any of those houses. That deduction is impressive though, and will come in handy one day, I’m sure.”

Huffing a laugh, she shook her head. “It’s just not handy the day we need it.” Lisa rolled her head, sighing when several joints popped; the tension making her uncomfortable and ansty. She always was when there were aspects of a mission she couldn’t control. “By the way, did Lindell explain how he got his hands on this satellite? Without it, we’d have no idea what was going on in there, or if they’re even alive. But considering these guys are still patrolling, we know they are.”

To her surprise, Blackburn glanced around the room before looking at her intently. “Turns out the orders not to send Bravo in after Brock and Clay didn’t come from Lindell – they came from General Shaw.”

Lisa frowned, thinking for a moment before gaping at her CO, stunned. “You mean the same General Shaw who’s had it out for Bravo the last few years and tried to disband them?”

“The one in the same,” he confirmed, looking unimpressed. “I’m not sure how he’s involved, only that he is – and from the way Lindell was talking he’s unaware of the General’s grudge with the team. He is suspicious of something though, because he got the satellite through his SAS connections.”

“He went around Shaw? That’s ballsy, even for him.”

“He doesn’t want to see our men killed because the US Navy can’t get resources where they need to be, regardless of it being a black op.”

“You should’ve told him about Shaw’s vendetta.” If he knew, then Lindell would ensure Bravo had whatever it needed to get the job done. While she didn’t know the new Captain overly well, she knew he had no tolerance for fools – and he sure as hell wouldn’t allow anyone to mess with any of his teams.

“Bad mouthing a General is career suicide, Lisa,” Eric said. “Especially when the General is Shaw. But I think he knows just enough now to look into it more.”

The door swung open, grabbing her attention, and she sat up a little straighter when Mandy entered – looking stressed but determined.

“Where are we at?” her friend asked, handing over a bag that upon opening contained an assortment of pastries. Lisa grabbed one and took a bite. She was starving, and she had no intention of waiting for permission. “We got eyes on them yet?”

“Not yet,” Eric replied around his own mouthful. “But we do have overwatch now – it’s hard to tell who’s who down there, especially as we can’t see in the buildings where we suspect they’re hiding. Have you got anything?”

“Aside from a headache the size of Texas?” Mandy said dryly, dragging a chair over and joining them. “Nothing more from the police. The favela is surrounded – anyone tries to leave, they’ll be shot on site.” Mandy poured herself a glass of water and downed it in one go. “As helpful as clandestine missions are to get things done, when things go to shit?” She blew a raspberry and shook her head. “Forget it.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Blackburn muttered. They all raised their various cups and clinked them together before turning back to the monitors.

Now it was up to Clay and Brock to show them where they were.

* * *

It was dark, and her eyes hurt from constantly staring at screens.

Bravo had rejoined them in the ops room, and were sprawled about in various states of rest – although she knew they’d be alert and ready to go at the drop of a hat.

When they first came in Jason had tried asking if she had anything, and the look she gave him must’ve been enough to scare them all off because no one had approached her since. No, she didn’t have anything beyond a headache and aching eyes, and it was driving her crazy.

She sighed and rubbed at her eyes again, hoping the pressure would help clear the pain and separate the white silhouettes a bit better than the blurred mess they’d become. Huffing irritably she looked at the screen again – only to freeze when she realised that the white dots weren’t as blurred as she thought.

“Hey,” she said to nobody in particular, zooming in on the picture. “I might have something.”

Blackburn was at her side immediately, and she could feel the intent eyes of Bravo on her, but she ignored them in favour of looking closer at the feed. “What’ve you got?” Eric asked, before inhaling sharply. “Shit.”

“Davis, what is it?” Sonny asked. A quick glance over at the boys showed that they were all wide awake and staring at her; probably a hair trigger away from doing something if she didn’t reply. So they weren’t kept in the dark, she put the feed on a bigger screen, ignoring the curses from the others as she moved the camera around the edges of the favela to see just how dire the situation was.

“They’re converging on a building,” she told them all. “This is the first time there’s been this many militia close together, and they’re not changing their path. It’s definitely not a coincidence.”

Jason was at her side in a second, grabbing the radio and activating it. “Bravo 6, 1; come in.” Static responded when he released the mic button. He growled and tried again. “Bravo 5, 1; do you read me?”

Static again, and he slammed the mic back on the table. “If they’re in there, they’re sitting ducks. Tell me we can do something.”

An incoming video call alert appeared on her screen, and she winced. The timing was horrendous. “Sir, I’ve got Captain Lindell on VTC.” A second alert appeared and she grit her teeth. “General Shaw as well.”

“Shaw?!” Jason spluttered, but was silenced by Eric’s glare as he connected both calls.

“Sir,” he greeted their immediate CO before giving the second screen a brief glance. “General. We have a situation in the Favela.”

 _“I can see that,”_ Shaw replied, getting in first. When she looked closer, she saw that her large display monitor was directly in front of the camera, giving the General a clear view of their feed. Shit. _“I can also see that you have a satellite overhead which, from my understanding, wasn’t available. Care to explain how you got unauthorized access to a military satellite, Blackburn_ _?”_

 _“It’s not unauthorized access General,”_ Lindell replied before Eric could. The expression on the Captain’s face was one she’d come to recognise as barely contained irritation. Oh boy, Lindell was not thrilled about the addition to their conversation, and from his tone he wasn’t going to tolerate anything, either. _“_ _Nor is it a US satellite. Due to the nature of the mission, our British allies have an_ _invested interest in this and offered me anything I needed to ensure we got what we came for.”_

 _“_ _But you did,”_ Shaw sneered. _“Unless Lieutenant Commander Blackburn’s report is inaccurate – Bravo team acquired the intel they were after.”_

She shot a glare over her shoulder when she heard a scuffle break out, but thankfully Jason had enough sense to hold his tongue even though he looked ready to commit murder.

 _“Lieutenant Commander_ _Blackburn’s intel is accurate_ _,_ _and that intel will be reviewed in due time._ _”_ She turned back to her screen, watched as the militia formed a tight circle around one of the buildings. There was no movement that indicated Clay and Brock were aware of their visitors – there was no indication the militia hadn’t gotten the wrong house, either - but she prayed that if they were in there, they’d make it out alive. She didn’t want to bury two of her family today.

 _“Unlike you General, I’m not in the business of leaving men behind,”_ Lindell said, his tone even but his words sharp and pointed. _“_ _Especially ones so valuable. Ensign Davis,”_ he continued before the General could get another word in, _“what are we looking at_ _?”_

“We have what appears to be fifty plus foot mobiles converging on one house in the favela,” she reported. “The militia haven’t been in groups any bigger than four since we gained access to ISR, and they’re not breaking from target which gives me a strong reason to suspect they’ve located our SEALs.”

 _“You’ve tried to raise them on comms_ _?”_

“Yes sir, Master Chief Hayes tried them just before your call came through - no luck.”

“Sir, we have reason to believe their comms may have been damaged during the mission,” Jason added, sidling into view of the camera and looking at Lindell’s monitor only. Lisa wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she was impressed with Bravo 1’s restraint – especially when he realised Shaw was involved. It was quite possible that hearing Lindell shut the General down had finally won the Great Stubborn Hayes over.

Hallelujah.

“Both Bravo 5 and 6 fell from a considerable height just as we got to the chopper, and while there were no issues with their radios immediately after, there’s nothing to say that further damage hasn’t been sustained to the point of making them inoperable.”

 _“If the militia have located them, then we need to get them out of there asap,”_ Lindell mused. _“Master Chief, how soon can Bravo spin up if required?”_

 _“Now wait just a minute_ _!”_ Shaw snapped. _“Bravo -”_

“Bravo’s ready to go, sir,” Jason interrupted, completely ignoring the General. “Just say the word, and we’re gone.”

“Unfortunately Bravo will have to drive in,” Blackburn said, sounding grim. “Snow’s helo suffered too much damage to fly Bravo in safely – another is en-route, but it’s still three hours out. We do have the police commissioner to consider as well; because he doesn’t know what’s going on, he could order the helo to be taken out if he sees it. Mandy is on route to his office now with her contact should she need to deal with him.”

 _“_ _While it’s good to know Miss Ellis is on hand to deal with any political fallout, quite frankly the commissioner is the least of my concerns,”_ Lindell replied, “ _and_ _driving in isn’t an option when you have to get near the heart of the favela, so a helo insert is our only choice. Damn.”_ The captain sighed heavily. _“Is there any way we can get the helo to the favela faster? If we have to clear airspace to give the helo a direct line in, I’ll pull strings, make it happen_ _.”_

_“You will not -”_

“My calculations of three hours _is_ based on a direct line, sir,” Lisa replied, interrupting the General. Normally she’d be too scared to talk over a senior officer, but if Lindell was not only prepared to overlook any indiscretions, but do the same then she figured she had nothing to fear. If she was going down, it looked like the whole ship was going down with her. “The pilot has a tail wind, so we’re hoping that will cut some time off, but we have to play it by ear. Sir, the bigger problem is that we’re not certain that the house that’s being converged on is where Bravo’s 5 and 6 are hunkered down,” she said. “And if it is, Bravo won’t make -” she stopped talking, eyes glued to her ISR screen that showed an RPG plough into the building. “Sir!”

Evidently, the militia were convinced they had the right place, and they were about find out if that was the case.

“Do we have clearance to go?” Jason barked, he and his brothers gathered around the feed as they watched intently. “We need to -”

 _“Negative, you do not have permission to go anywhere, Hayes!”_ Shaw snapped, and Lisa could have throttled the man. He was leaning back in his chair, and looking damn smug, he was so sure he would be obeyed despite previously being ignored. _“You are to stay -”_

Lisa had no idea what prompted her to act, but with a click of the button she cut the feed. Silence rang out for a moment, and even she was stunned by her actions; the cold realisation that she could be court martialed settling in her gut like lead.

But did she actually care, when this man was willing to sacrifice two of her family?

Not in the slightest.

 _“Looks like we lost our connection,”_ Lindell said, and when she looked out the corner of her eye, her shoulders sagged in relief at the nod of approval she received. _"Ensign Davis, I’ll handle Shaw, but I want Snow prepped and ready for Bravo the moment we have confirmation that our two SEALs are in there.”_

“Yes sir,” she replied, reaching for the radio and was about to activate it when Trent cut her off.

“Look!” Bravo 4 said, pointing at the screen – at the house that was smoldering and burning bright in the camera. At first, she couldn’t see what he’d pointed out, but then the smoke that had covered part of the house shifted in the wind, and she saw one man climb out of the building, dragging a second through a moment later.

_“Ensign, confirm for me those are our SEALs!”_

Lisa zoomed the camera in, and while the picture was black and white, and she couldn’t get close enough to be completely positive, she knew her team well enough to know when she was looking at them. “That’s them sir!”

The two figures on screen started running, and she watched with her heart in her mouth as the militia gave chase. The tension in the room had sky rocketed, everyone helpless to do anything but watch as their brothers fled for their lives with zero knowledge of where they were going.

 _“_ _Hav_ _.._ _is Br_ _…_ _5; do_ _…_ _ad me?!”_

She jumped when the radio suddenly crackled to life, Brock’s message broken but understandable. Grabbing the mic, she fiddled with the dials in the hopes of boosting the power and potentially improving the signal. The fact they were getting anything at all was a miracle, considering that not five minutes ago they’d thought communicating with the pair was impossible. “Bravo 5, Havoc – we read three, how copy?” There was no immediate reply, so she tried again. “5, this is Havoc; we read you, how copy?”

 _“…_ _oc, this_ _…_ _on fo_ _…_ _hea_ _…_ _th_ _…_ _been compr_ _…_ _ed - I say again,_ _…_ _been_ _…_ _mised! Hel_ _…_ _good right_ _…_ _now, out!”_

“Their receivers must be damaged,” she muttered, wincing when another dial turn made her radio scream in response. “That’s the cleanest I can get the signal.”

“No!” Sonny yelled, sounding stricken. Lisa huffed, ready to tell the Texan that actually yes, that was the best she could do when she realised he wasn’t looking at her, but the screen; and she felt the world lurch violently when she saw both men had stopped moving – were sprawled on the dirt instead. “C’mon get up,” the Texan continued, flexing his fingers in unconscious agitation. “Get up you two!”

As though spurred on by his encouragement, the pair slowly pushed to their feet – but once they were upright, they were moving. Quickly. They sprinted down alleyways, only taking the occasional turn which must’ve meant they could see where the areas were blocked off as they passed them. Zooming out slightly to see what lay ahead, Lisa cursed loudly and dove for the radio. If there was a chance she could get through to them, to warn them, she had to try. “Bravo 5, Bravo 6 – you have a cliff directly ahead of you! I say again, you have a cliff directly ahead – you need to turn right immediately!”

But they didn’t reply. In fact there was no response at all, and she watched in growing horror as the pair slid to a stop; heads swiveling as they realised just where they were. The pair turned, but realised the way they’d come was now blocked – and she gasped aloud when after looking at each other, they jumped. 

“Jesus Christ!” Jason yelled. “Davis, get that camera over them now!”

“What the hell are they thinking?!” Eric added, looking mortified.

Leaping onto the controls, she turned the camera feed so that it was looking towards where the pair had jumped from, heaving a sigh of relief when she saw that the drop hadn’t been from a cliff at all – in fact it was only two or three stories at most, and as it wasn’t a straight drop, but a sloping one it meant that they had been able to roll with most of it.

Sprawled at the bottom of the cliff, unmoving, with the militia slowly gathering around them there was nothing more she could do. Instead she looked at Lindell when the white outlines of the militia started dragging their SEALs away. “Sir? What do you want us to do?”

 _“Master Chief Hayes, as soon as the helo_ _arrives you have permission to enter the favela and bring our boys home. Do whatever you have too to get them back.”_

Jason straightened, and nodded at the screen. “Yes sir.” He turned to his team, saw the same determination and fury on their faces that he knew was on his.

“Let’s bring our boys home.”


	6. Let's Burn This Nest To The Ground

**A/N: Hi all! Only a couple of days late! But better that than a couple of weeks after that oh so charming cliffhanger, right? And considering the timing, delaying was probably for the best. Let this be my ‘Happy Day of the Turkey’ gift to you all! I hope it doesn’t need returning…**

**Speaking of cliffhangers – who else is shitting themselves for Cerberus with the new season promo? Show of hands. Cause I am FREAKING out right now! At first I thought Justin was off the show entirely because they’re (maybe) doing away with Cerberus, because he’s had no ‘woohoo back filming’ posts on his IG, but then I realised neither has anyone else, so they probably have to keep everything under wraps. There’s been stills for the following week’s episode, and Cerb is still there, although at Jason’s(?) so that’s good I guess. Who knows what this will mean for our favourite canine though…**

**And Mandy? I was reading a TV Guide article earlier that they did with Spencer Hudnut, and he touched on Mandy’s role on the show. I know she’s dropping back to a part time/guest appearance role, and to be honest with the way her character is going, I’m not surprised. I haven’t been a huge fan of her lately, because she was pretty unflappable in the first season, and it’s changed – but it’s a testament to the show that they’re accurately portraying how the job can affect people differently. I’m guessing Mandy will go off for some self-reflection for a while before returning. While it’s a shame to see JP go, I think it’s the best thing for Mandy at this point in time. Hopefully, this chapter does her character justice.**

**One week to go till the new season! Woohoo! But also, omfg. I’m slightly terrified…**

**Oh and side note for the story, I think this is wrapping up in a chapter or so, I’m not 100% sure yet. I don’t want to drag it out, because there’s still the BIG one to come, and I’m sure we’re all excited for that! Although I may do a dance through the Marvel tulips to get that other story off my chest before diving back into this series. Or I’ll split my time between them, who knows!**

**Soundtrack’s for this is from the first Call of Duty: Modern Warfare game, titled[Pripyat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRN6rJR_l7s&ab_channel=MrDomics), [Deadpool](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOvXUOx8JMQ&ab_channel=MrDomics) and [Surrounded](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74Ly8fvuAF4&ab_channel=MrDomics) \- they’re all specifically for the infil part of this chapter. MOH inspired this too, although the soundtracks don’t quite fit with the chapter (they are AMAZING soundtracks though!), the mission is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYciaprFL4Y&ab_channel=RecoilProduction)**

**As always, special shout out to[Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Geek_is_my_middle_name](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geek_is_my_middle_name), [Mmccrory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mmccrory), [foreverpadfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverpadfoot), [AllAboutTheStory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory), [sakura_21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_21), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [MeldirielErulisse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeldirielErulisse), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [Idk34](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idk34), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [Bball25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bball25), [argallel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argallel), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [summeronice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summeronice), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [hayes14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayes14), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [AeroWright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroWright), and [strandedchesspiece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece) as well as the 73 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

For such a clear, cool night – or as clear and cool as Brazil could hope to get these days - the air was stifling. Heavy and oppressive and damn near uncomfortable.

Mandy marched down the corridor of the police station, her shoulders back and irritation coursing through her as she followed her contact to the Commissioner’s office.

She’d been trying to get a meeting with the man for the past three hours but was repeatedly denied due to him being ‘unavailable’. After being blocked at every turn, and with Bravo less than twenty minutes away from spinning up, she’d decided to forgo civility and threatened to kick down doors if she had too to get her meeting. She’d told her contact as much, and evidently the mention of such a commotion was enough that she was smuggled into the building.

“How much further?” She asked, aware that time was ticking on. She’d like to get the approval squared away _before_ Bravo lifted, not after.

“At the end of this corridor, turn right and it’s the door at the far end,” her contact replied. The woman was only taking her part of the way in order to protect her cover; the building was big and Mandy didn’t have time to waste trying to find the office – hence the need for a guide. “This is where I’ll leave you; I’ll wait in the car.”

“Understood,” she said, nodding once. “I won’t be long.”

“Boa sorte,” was the murmured reply.

“Obrigada.” With that, she did as instructed and reached her destination quickly. She knocked twice, hard and sharp and opened the door without waiting for permission.

She entered, and narrowed her eyes when she found the man seated at his desk, a book in one hand, a fork in the other and a plate of takeaways in front of him, although the fork clattered noisily when he dropped it – evidently surprised to find someone entering that wasn’t one of his staff.

“Quem é Você?!” he demanded in Portuguese as she came to stand in front of him, fingers scrabbling for a napkin and leaving grease smeared across his shirt and desk. Her lip curled in disgust at the sight. “O que você quer!”

“I must say, if three-hour meal breaks are a common occurrence around here, it’s no wonder Brazil has such a high level of crime,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her and glaring at the man who was frantically trying to clean the mess he’d made. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of, Commissioner Saant.”

Still mopping up his mess, he glared at her. “Who are you?” he asked again, this time in heavily accented English. “What gives you the right to come into my office and make false accusations?”

“Mandy Ellis, American Intelligence. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the past three hours yet you’ve blocked me at every turn. Did you really think I’d give up just because you continually offered excuses?”

“CIA? Bah,” Saant scoffed, tossing the used napkins aside. “I do not have to talk with you if I don’t want to. Besides, there’s no reason for you to be here – it could have waited till morning.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware you knew what I wanted to see you about,” she retorted. “I guess I have your permission then, so in that case I’ll be giving my team the go ahead. Good evening, Commissioner.” And with that, she turned on her heel.

“Wait!” he called before she could stride from the room. “You do not have permission for...” he went silent for a moment as he fumbled for words, before shaking it off and saying: “what do you want permission for? What team are you talking about?”

She turned and folded her arms again, glaring at the man. “As it turns out, I’ve decided that I don’t need permission, seeing as you don’t seem to care about what’s happening around here,” she said sharply, “so here’s what you’re going to tell your men around the Favela to do. A helicopter will be arriving there in the next thirty minutes, and your people are going to stand down. They will not engage; they will continue to stand guard but they will allow my team to insert and do what they came to do -”

“Now wait just a second!” Saant spluttered, rounding his desk and shaking a grease-coated finger at her. “No! No, you do not have permission to go into the favela! You do not even have permission to be operating here! You will get out of my country before -”

“Before you what?” she interjected calmly. “Report me to your President? Commissioner Saant, how do you think he’ll react when he finds out that the reason the favela is classed as a lost cause, is because you choose to take long meal breaks and read books, rather than actively prevent the gangs from running rampant? From where I stand, it seems to me you’re more interested in filling your pocket and your stomach than fulfilling your civil duty.”

“You have no idea what I’ve done for my people!” He snapped taking a step closer, fluffing up indignantly. “You Americans think you know me, know us; you have no idea what I deal with -”

Containing her smirk, she closed the gap until she was in his face. His breath was rancid, smelling heavily of chicken and garlic and it made her want to vomit, but she held her disgust in – knowing that she’d experienced worse before, and would do so again. “I know full well what you ‘deal’ with,” she hissed, making the quote marks clear in her voice. “I know that despite being the commissioner for the last three years, you’ve done nothing but spin pretty fables about how the gangs are becoming too unmanageable, and despite the money the government gives you for additional personnel and resources, nothing’s changed. How much are the gangs paying you, I wonder, to look the other way? How long do you think it’ll take me to dig into your life – pull every financial record on you and piece together just how close you are with them? I imagine the intel packet I’d build would be quite an interesting read for your superiors.

“Or perhaps they’re paying you in drugs and guns for your own personal use. A man like you, not fit to be in this role must feel stressed – a shot of the good stuff to get you through the night and turn a blind eye must be most enjoyable. As for what you deal with, what makes you think you have a job harder than mine? Have you ever been to Afghanistan? Namibia? Ukraine? Have you ever looked in the eyes of a mass terrorist while extracting information from him while he hurls abuse at you? Knowing he’s someone who would not hesitate to kill you and countless others if given the chance?” she scoffed lightly. “No, you haven’t. But I have. Countless times; which is why I have no issues telling you that my team will be landing in the favela shortly to carry out their mission – and you and your men will stay out of our way. So, for the sake of your people going home to their families, you tell them to stand down when that helicopter comes in, otherwise my team will neutralize anyone that challenges them.”

“Are you threatening me?” Saant asked, his voice wavering slightly. Mandy grinned, shark-like. The man had gone several shades paler as she spoke, not to mention cowered slightly – shrinking a little more with every point she made. What he didn’t know was that she’d done her research already; so she knew just what kind of a corrupt official he was, rather than acting like she was guessing. While she wouldn’t use that information right now, she had every intention of getting the packet to the Justice Senator who she knew was on the straight and narrow – and absolutely despised corruption. “You Americans don’t have permission to be here; you’re here illegally. I could report you; you wish to risk a political relationship?”

“Oh, I’m not threatening you,” she replied, “I’m telling you. And I’m telling you this as well. You’re going to stand your men down so my team can extract an incredibly dangerous man that is associated with the people responsible for the Tenerife bombing. If you don’t? Then I will be advising my superiors of your refusal to cooperate; which will then result in Brazil losing any support from America and the United Kingdom – not to mention any country that lost citizens as a result of the attacks, because as I’m sure you can appreciate there are a lot of people with an invested interest in our success. Brazil is looking to be an awfully lonely country in the future, that’s for sure. And it will be all thanks to you.”

With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the door. Once she opened it, she looked over her shoulder. “Pick up your phone, and tell your people to stand down,” she said, giving him what she knew was a pointed smile. “This is your final warning.” She slammed the door shut behind her, and made her way back down the corridor, following the exit signs as she pulled out her phone. The line rang twice before it connected. “They’re clear to move,” she said in lieu of greeting. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

“ _Good work Mandy,”_ Eric told her. “ _I’ll let them know.”_

The call ended, and she exhaled slowly. That was the first time she’d ever outright threatened someone that wasn’t one of her targets, but it had to be done. She’d lied about the reason Bravo were going in, but that was to protect Brock and Clay; the last thing she needed was the Commissioner getting it in his head that he could send his own men in to try score some points with his superiors – especially after the information she’d just threatened him with – and she certainly couldn’t risk the pair being killed in the inevitable cock up if he interfered.

Shoving the door open, she exited the building and made a beeline for the waiting car; climbing in and nodding at her contact. The car took off before she’d fully strapped in, but it didn’t faze her in the slightest because time was of the essence.

“So, how did he take it?”

She shrugged as she put her seat belt on. “As well as you suspected he would. One thing is certain, the man is in no position to be where he is – he’s more focused on himself than the people he’s meant to protect.”

“He needs to be removed from office,” her contact growled. “He is the reason my city is overrun by the gangs, yet he is never held responsible!” She went off in a tirade in her native tongue, which Mandy would admit to only understanding half of. But regardless, the frustration was shared; as someone bound by duty to uphold peace in her own country and abroad, to see people like Saant abuse his position made her blood boil.

“When this is over, I will give you the file on Saant to make it happen,” she replied. “Senator Cruz needs that information, she’ll have him gone immediately and the position refilled with someone she can trust.”

“Thank you.”

Mandy nodded, but didn’t say anything further, and the rest of the trip was completed in silence. Soon, they were in front of the safe house and she was climbing out again; steeling herself for what was to come.

“Good luck, I hope you find your men.”

“Me too,” she replied before shutting the door, turning her back on the car as it drove away. God, she did too.

* * *

_“Bravo 1, Havoc; coordinates for Bravo’s 5 and 6 are in your GPS now – Snow will drop you ten klicks south of their location, which is where they were originally taken, how copy?”_

“Solid copy Havoc,” Jason replied, securing his NODs onto his helmet. “We have any idea what we’re walking into?”

 _“Not at this time,”_ Lisa replied, sounding frustrated. _“ISR shows a large number of militia surrounding the building they took Clay and Brock too – but we can’t see into it, so we’re not certain what type of rescue this is.”_

“Roger.” He swallowed back bile at that. They didn’t know if it was still a rescue mission, or a recovery one. Please, _please_ let it be a rescue. Out of them all, those two deserved to live; the youngest and the best of them needed to come home so they could continue Bravo’s legacy, fight another day. He needed them to come home, because he couldn’t face losing anyone else, especially not when their current predicament was his fault in the first place.

“They’ll be fine Jase,” Sonny said, obviously understanding whatever expression was on his face. “The pair of them are damn stubborn when it comes to bad situations; they’ll probably have it under control and will be telling us to move our asses when we get there.”

“Yeah, there’ll probably be a few comments about crochety old men taking their sweet old time thrown in there, too,” Ray added, smirking slightly.

“Speak for yourselves,” Trent muttered. “While you’re getting questions about your speed, or lack thereof, I’ll be getting ‘ouch Trent’ and ‘be gentle Trent’ or ‘why are you so mean to us Trent?’ instead.”

He snorted, because he could absolutely see both of his brothers saying exactly that. “Yeah, you’re right,” he replied. “They’ll be fine.” They would be, because they had to be.

The flight over was spent checking their gear, and before they knew it, Snow was calling out for final descent. “ _Good luck lads,_ ” Ronnie said over their comm channel. “ _I’m going to be waiting on a hill about five klicks east, you just tell me when you’re ready for exfil and I’ll get you outta there. All of you, this time._ ”

“Copy all,” he said, flicking his gun’s safety off. “Alright boys, lock and load. Suppressors are what’s gonna save us today.” Three heads bobbed in unison, and the moment he felt the helicopter come to a standstill, he hauled the door open and was on his brothers heels the moment they were clear of the machine.

“What have we got?!” Ray yelled while Snow lifted away from the area with a revv of the engines. “Anything?”

“Clear!” 

“We’re clear!” Trent replied. “Area secure!” 

“Alright lads, fingers on triggers and heads on swivels – drop anything that moves. We’re all leaving this hellhole in one piece,” Jason told his brothers, who grunted in reply. “Trent, take point, Ray you’ve got rear. Let’s move.” 

For the first ten minutes, they were entirely alone – the favela like a ghost town. It was off-putting, to say the least; they’d arrived in one of the noisiest ways possible which really should’ve drawn everyone to them. But it didn’t, so they made their way through the alleys - alertness growing the longer they were left alone. But when they did finally come across the militia... boy did they know about it. 

The men were everywhere; lingering in doorways or around cars, prowling through alleys and hunkered down on the rooftops. In fact, the closer Bravo got, the more there seemed to be. It was unusual, considering they’d had zero resistance since landing, but the militia must have believed it would be easier to take them out if they stuck to an area that was heavily defended, rather spreading out to go looking for them. Which would have made more sense during the day, but at night? These guys didn’t stand a chance.

Thanks to having ISR overhead and their NODs for the dark areas, it was easy enough to stick to the shadows and pick them off without alerting anyone else, and with the militia being so unorganised they made it to the vicinity of the target building in no time.

“Alright, Trent and I will take left, Ray and Sonny the right – rally at the end of this street. Keep it quiet.”

They split off without so much as a scuff of a boot in warning. With Trent watching his back they stuck to the shadows and made their way up the alley, their black tac gear making them invisible to the untrained eye. Just as they got to the edge of the intersection, movement caught his attention in front of the main door. He cursed quietly and activated his radio. “2, 1; you see what I see?”

_“A-firm 1, three tangos directly ahead under the veranda.”_

Chewing his lip, he peered around the corner to see if there was a way to cross the road without being seen, but there wasn’t. There was a light above the arch that illuminated a good part of the yard in front of the house, and with no cover between them and the building they’d be completely exposed. “Alright, on my mark Trent, Sonny and I will take out the guards – Ray you take out the light. We need darkness.”

Trent went low beside him, so he stayed high and lined up his shot. “2, you ready?”

_“Copy.”_

“Sonny?”

_“Copy 1 – I’ve got right.”_

“Trent?”

“I’ve got the middle. Call it boss.”

“Alright, on my mark – three, two, one, mark.”

The bulb shattered with a soft tinkle of glass, and three bodies slumped silently to the ground from a bullet to the head – blood spraying the walls behind them. “Move up,” he said to the brother next to him and the ones at the other end of the radio.

Trent slipped past him and led the way, sprinting across the road before taking point at the edge of the building that looked onto the main road. Sonny had done the same on the opposite side, and he and Ray were gathered next to the doorway. “Havoc this is 1, we’re outside of the target building.”

 _“Copy 1,”_ Lisa replied. “ _Be advised that ISR monitoring has shown a large number of militia enter the building over the last few hours, but none have left.”_

He shared a look with Ray before thumbing his radio on again. “What are you thinking? Tunnels?”

_“Could be, but there’s no sign of these guys appearing elsewhere. Either they’re really long tunnels that we can’t see the exit of, or you’re about to encounter heavy resistance.”_

He rolled his eyes. Great. “Copy Havoc. We’re making entry in three and will go radio silent during that time.”

_“Roger Bravo 1, good luck. Out.”_

A quick inspection revealed a fuse box to the right of the door, and a ladder to the second floor on the left. He shook his head. “They make it too easy. Sonny, set a static charge on the power box, give it a twenty second timer to activate on my mark. Trent, Ray – head up the ladder, we’re going to make entry via the second story to keep the element of surprise. Sonny and I will be up as soon as you’ve secured the area.”

“Copy,” Ray replied before shuffling to the ladder. While his brothers set about following their orders, he took point – eyes and ears tuned for the sound of potential company. He could hear voices in the house, but they were too muffled to understand, and thankfully not close enough to pose a problem.

“Charge’s set,” Sonny muttered after a minute or so, sealing his pocket and rearming himself. “We’re ready, Jase.”

“2, 1; you all good up there?”

_“Rog, we’re good.”_

He looked at Sonny before nodding at the ladder – Sonny taking the instruction and scrambling up it silently. Once the Texan was at the top and covering him, Jason scrambled up. He found Trent and Ray either side of an open window, and a body slumped in the corner of the balcony.

“Dude was patrolling by the window,” Ray said, shrugging when he gave him a questioning look. “And now he’s not.”

“Alright.” Looking once more over his shoulder, before saluting the satellite he knew was watching he climbed through the window and waited for the others to join him. They were in a narrow corridor, a few doors breaking the otherwise solid concrete. “Sonny, hit it.”

Sonny nodded and did as instructed. They all waited, and twenty seconds later, the power died.

“Lights out fuckers,” Sonny muttered when they heard startled yelling somewhere below, several yelps of surprise when people undoubtedly ran into each other.

“NODs on, sweep each room then rally on the stairs – same pairs as before,” he told his team. “Trent and I have the left.”

With practised, efficient movements they quickly cleared the upper floor. There was a lot of yelling in Portuguese, the militia evidently trying to locate one another. He’d have thought they’d be used to power outages by now, given how poor the area was, but with two prisoners somewhere in the building and knowing Bravo were somewhere nearby, their nerves were undoubtedly running rampant.

He and Trent met minimal resistance, and dropped each man with ease. Annoyingly, the rooms were also lacking any obvious signs of Brock and Clay, so they were yet to find any evidence if they were in the right place or not. Trent tapped him on the shoulder, and they exited the room and made for the stairs, finding Sonny but no Ray.

Before he could even ask where his second was, Sonny was waving him back to the final room. “Take point,” he muttered to his medic before striding down the hall. He entered the room the Texan had indicated, and found Ray looking at a table. “What’ve you got?”

Bravo 2 waved him over and indicated for him to take off his NODs, giving him a few seconds to do so before activating his torch.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he cursed and activated his radio when he realised what Ray had found. “Havoc, 1; top floor secure. We’ve found the tac gear 5 and 6 were wearing. There’s... there’s a fair bit of blood here, over.”

_“Copy 1. We’ll get Mandy to arrange for medical supplies so 4 can treat them when they come in.”_

“Rog.”

“That’s a lot of blood, Jase,” Ray muttered. “What if -”

“They’ll be fine,” he grit out. They would be. They _had_ to be. “Let’s go.”

They flipped their NODs down and regrouped with the others, but before they headed for the ground floor he turned to Trent and said: “you’ve got your full first aid kit with you?”

“Of course I do,” Trent said, sounding offended and not even turning to look at him. “It’s Brock and Clay, what else am I going to bring?” Ignoring the soft snorts of the others, he clapped Trent on the shoulder as he passed and led the way down the stairs. 

The ground floor was cleared just as quickly, but harder to do, given the fact that the militia now knew something was up. Making progress was slower this time around, but anyone that got in their way was neutralised quickly. 

“ _Clear_ ,” Ray said over comms, sounding frustrated. “ _No sign of ‘em.”_

“Hey, boss?” 

He turned at Trent’s whisper, and crept over when Bravo 4 motioned for him to do so. “What’ve you got?” he asked quietly, although considering Trent was next to the wall there really was no need to ask. Looking at the ground he saw the scuff marks on the dirt, a few smeared drops of blood, and activated his radio. “2, 3; rally in the kitchen,” he murmured. “We’ve got a tunnel. Havoc, how copy?” 

_“Rog, moving.”_

_“Copy 1, you have a tunnel in the kitchen – we’ll standby for a sitrep, over.”_

While waiting for the rest of their team, he and Trent set about getting the shelf away from the wall and checking the tunnel entrance for traps. They found none, and once Ray and Sonny were with them, they entered.

There was a short flight of stairs that lead to a corridor, the structure dug out of the hard mud and lined with poorly constructed support beams which made maneuvering quietly hard to do. There were exposed wires and light bulbs running the length of the ceiling, but thanks to the power cut they were out – which was their only saving grace considering there was nowhere to hide.

The tunnel was short, only a hundred yards or so, but it was what lay at the end that had everyone’s attention. After running narrow, it ballooned out into a room that’s only source of light was from candles. Although calling it a room was generous; a hollowed out cavity was a more apt description, considering there was no door. Unfortunately, the lack of a door also meant that anyone in there simply had to walk into the middle of the room, shine a light down the corridor and Bravo would be spotted.

Luckily for them, the poor construction worked both ways, because while someone could see out, _they_ could see in – which meant that when he lifted his NODs he could see one shadow moving around the room, and what looked like two that weren’t.

They’d found them.

Ray copied him while Sonny and Trent took point – keeping their goggles on and their eyes on the floor so they could lead the way. He grabbed Trent’s tac-vest, allowing the medic to lead him closer while Ray and Sonny did the same – Ray taking point, gun raised and ready to act.

It was all down to timing, now. If they weren’t fast enough, it was all over.

“I’m sure your friends will be with us soon,” a man said, calm yet mocking and it took Jason a second to place the voice. When he did, he bared his teeth. _Rojas_.

Not only was the bastard still alive, but he’d had Clay and Brock for the last three hours, and had done who knew what to them. He knew. He _fucking knew_ he should’ve killed him when he had the chance. Goddamn Ray and his need to follow the rules.

One thing was for certain, Rojas wasn’t getting away this time.

There was the tiniest creak of leather as Ray tightened his grip on his gun, having evidently placed the voice too, but he stayed quiet; releasing Sonny’s vest now that he was close enough to see what was in front of him while silently creeping along the corridor until he was less than three feet away.

“I wonder which one of you your friends will save; I doubt they’re fast enough to save you both. A pity, really. The pretty blond? Or the pretty brunet?”

There was no answer, and Rojas tutted. “So disappointing,” he continued, which was followed by the overly loud sound of a gun being cocked. “But don’t worry; I will make it easy for them. Don’t want them to play favourites when they get here, after all, do we?” There was a dark chuckle, then: “What’s that riddle little children like to sing? Ah, yes. Eeny. meeny. miny -”

Jason didn’t see Ray move. One minute he was at the head of their group, the next he was in the room; and all he heard was his brother loudly say “Moe” before firing off a single shot, followed by a body toppling to the floor.

“Tango down,” Ray said, disappearing around the corner. “Area secure!”

Trent nearly bowled him and Sonny over as he hurried forward, and he was only in there a second before exclaiming: “Shit! Sonny, give me a hand!”

Concerned by the sharpness in Trent’s tone, he and Sonny hurried after him – the Texan angling for the medic while Jason activated the torch on his shoulder and shone it around the room to better assess the situation.

Both brothers were in nothing but their briefs, and unconscious. Clay was on the left; strung from the ceiling by chains wrapped around his wrists, his arms over his head and his feet barely brushing the floor. He shuddered to think about just how much damage the muscle strain might cause the sniper in the long run, especially if he’d been hanging like that for a while. It was why Trent was busy supporting him; arms wrapped around his waist and lifting while Sonny worked on freeing him so they could lower him to the ground. The blond’s torso was littered with multiple wounds of varying sizes and depths, and slick with blood; fresh and dried trails cutting tracks over the nearly entirely bruise-blackened skin. Aside from the obvious, he looked alright – although he dreaded to think about what internal injuries their youngest had.

Brock was on the right – tied to a chair, a gag in his mouth and slumped as much as the ropes would allow. He was covered in blood and sweat, and had horrendous bruising almost everywhere; his skin more black and blue than the usual tan it was. By all appearances, he wasn’t too badly hurt – which was a first, considering the bad run of injuries his brother had suffered the past couple of years.

“The hell?!” Sonny exclaimed, and he looked at the Texan while making his way over to Brock and Ray. “What did they -”

“Leave it,” Trent ordered. “Just watch his back and focus on getting him down. Clay? Hey, Spense; can you hear me?”

“What’s wrong with Clay’s back?” he asked, attention half on pair on the left while watching Ray assess Brock. “Ray, hurry up and get those ropes off’a him.”

“These aren’t ropes, boss, they’re steel cables,” Ray said, and then quietness of his Second’s words was enough to make Trent look over. Ray raised his hands, and Jason gaped in horror while Trent swore furiously.

One hand held a small bucket of water. The other held jumper leads.

“That _bastard -_ ”

“Jase, I need you to help Sonny,” Trent said, sounding panicked. “Don’t touch Clay’s back – Ray, is he breathing?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ray said after a moment, his ear close to Brock’s mouth once he’d removed the gag. “But it’s shallow.”

“Fuck.” Sonny took over from Trent while Jason hurried over to work on the chains, and Trent moved to Brock. “Ray, I need you to get those cables off him – now!”

While Ray and Trent were busy working on freeing the handler, Jason started on the chain that was attached to the wall. It was locked in tight, and no matter what he did he couldn’t get the chain to budge. “Son of a - I need some bolt cutters,” he growled, grunting in irritation. “Son, you got any?”

“In my pack,” the Texan replied, before groaning and jostling Clay slightly. “Hey, Bam Bam, rise and shine little buddy – my arms are starting to hurt.”

Rolling his eyes while half-listening to Trent’s frantic mutterings, Jason came up behind Sonny to get into his pack, and double took when he saw Clay’s back. “What the hell?!” he yelped, shining his torch on his sniper and gaping wordlessly. “He - what the hell, Sonny? Why didn’t you say anything?” Trent’s warning about avoiding Clay’s back, and the vast amount of blood that his brother was covered in, suddenly became clear.

Clay’s back was in shreds.

Lines criss-crossed the expanse of his back - ones that were dark red but unbroken, others that had dug deep, oozing blood. In some of the more extreme cases skin was hanging off; the whip having landed close enough times that it was only thanks to the small, unscathed areas that held the flesh together. The pain Clay must be in... for his sake, he hoped his brother stayed unconscious that little bit longer. 

Yanking the cutters from Sonny’s pack with more force than was probably necessary, it took no time at all to cut through the chain and carefully lower Clay’s arms. With the blond’s wrists still bound, he looped them around Sonny’s neck – they couldn’t put Clay on his back, and certainly couldn’t put him in his front, so keeping him upright was the best they could do for the time being. 

“Hey,” Sonny grumbled, “I ain’t a coat rack.” Despite sounding annoyed, he held his friend close, so Jason just rolled his eyes and said: “congratulations, you are today,” before turning away. 

With one brother taken care of, he headed over to the others. The cables were gone, but the burns they’d left stood out in stark comparison to the rest of his injuries; Brock’s own criss-crossing patterns ones of charred skin rather than Clay’s broken and bleeding. He also had Trent’s portable defib attached to his chest, and the medic looking at it worriedly. “What is it?” 

“Electrocution can cause cardiac arrest,” Trent replied, sounding calm despite his expression. “I don’t know what’s happened to him, but his heart isn’t beating correctly and I don’t have everything I need to treat him here. We need to get them both out of here, and I need to talk to Doc.”

As he shifted in agitation, the light from his torch hit something in the corner of the room, making it glint. He went over and picked up the object gingerly, showing the medic. “Trent? There any signs of needle marks on their arms?”

Trent looked at the syringe in his hand before checking the crook of Brock’s elbows, and swore vehemently. “Bag it,” the medic said. “We need to know what was in it, and if it was clean.”

Grimacing, he did as instructed, wrapping the needle in gauze before sticking it in a container in his kit that was designed to carry sharp objects. On top of everything else his brothers had been subjected to on this mission, drugs and dirty needles was the last thing either of them needed. “Backpack leashes, I swear to god,” he muttered under his breath, before turning to the others. “We need an evac and we need it now. Ray, set out an emergency blanket for us to lay the boys on. Sonny, you’re with me - we’re going to clear out the guys who are undoubtedly waiting for us and call Snow in.”

“Make sure Snow has stretchers on board,” Trent said, taking Clay from Sonny. “Carrying them out is going to do more damage than they can afford to have happen right now.” 

“You got it. Let’s go Sonny.” 

“Yes sir,” Sonny drawled, leading the way down the tunnel. They moved silently, ears attuned to any sounds that would indicate there was an ambush waiting for them. Jason rolled his eyes when he heard people arguing quietly up ahead. 

“You got nine bangers?” he breathed. When the Texan nodded, he nodded back. “Prep two and toss them through the entrance – I’ll cover you.” 

Sonny handed his gun over and grabbed two out of his pack, removing the pins to prime them. They crept close enough that they could confirm the tunnel entrance was still open – further evidence these guys were amateurs – and he tapped the Texan on the shoulder. Lobbing them through the hole with pinpoint accuracy, Jason handed Sonny’s gun back just as twin flashes of light lit up the shack. 

Men were screeching in pain, and they charged up the stairs - racing through the room and dropping the multiple tangos that were stumbling around with their hands over their eyes. Once they’d cleared the area, Sonny took point while Jason activated his radio. “Havoc, 1; how copy?” 

_“Solid copy 1; you have an update?”_

“A-firm, sitrep as follows. Estimate thirty-five tangos eliminated. Jackpot on Bravo’s 5 and 6 – they were taken by Rojas. Rojas is now KIA. Request immediate evac; stretchers needed to do so as neither are mobile at this time, over.” 

_“Roger 1, helo spinning up now. There are two stretchers on board, and medical assistance is being arranged for your arrival. Extraction will join comms now, eta ten mikes, over.”_

“Copy all,” he said, before looking at Sonny. “Stay here, take point.” 

“Where’re you going?” 

Rather than reply, he hurried down the stairs again. He activated his radio as he looked down the tunnel. “Ray, evac in ten, I need you to come get the stretchers when they arrive.” 

_“Rog, lemme know when that helo is inbound.”_

“Will do.”

He headed back up the stairs and took point with Sonny; prepared to hold off anyone that turned up. “Oh, that’s where you were goin’,” Sonny drawled. “You think them boys will be alright?” 

“They better be,” he grumbled, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. “I have two leashes with their names on them, and I better get to use them.” 

“You do know there’s no way in hell they’ll let you, right?” 

“I’d like to see them try to stop me.” 

Sonny shrugged. “A’ight.” 

The wait for the helicopter seemed to drag on forever, and wasn’t without issues – militia arriving in a steady stream but getting taken out as quickly as they appeared. Eventually, the steady _thump thump thump_ could be heard, and their radios crackled to life. 

_“Hayes, my little grouchy SEAL, you read me?”_

He rolled his eyes at the name, wondering just what he’d done to deserve being saddled with this pilot twice now, and glared at Sonny when the Texan sniggered. “Receiving Snow, go ahead.” 

_“I’m inbound, eta sixty seconds – there’s a large number of militia making their way over, so I’m going to dump the two stretchers and get out of range until you’re ready to load up, how copy?”_

“Solid copy, Bravo 2 will grab them; 3 and I are pulling security, over.” 

_“Roger; let’s not try ruin two birds in one day. My insurance won’t cover it.”_

“Man, this chick is great,” Sonny chortled. “Can we keep her?” 

“For the sake of my sanity, no,” he retorted, heading for the tunnel and sticking his head in. “RAY!” he yelled, “CHOPPER INBOUND!” 

_“Comin’!”_

As promised, Ray appeared at the base of the stairs a few seconds later – crouching in the entryway of the house while the helo came into land. The moment the wheels touched the dirt, he was sprinting over; Jason and Sonny watching his back while he hauled the door open and climbed inside. Soon, he was jumping out with two folded up stretchers tucked under his arms and running their way, Snow lifting away immediately after. 

“You left the door open,” Sonny commented dryly as Ray ran past, and despite his load Bravo 2 managed to flip him the bird before disappearing down the stairs. Yelling started up echoing through the still night air, and he and Sonny donned their NODs, using the darkness of the surrounding area to their advantage and dropping anyone that appeared. 

A lot appeared. 

_“Boss, we’re bringing the first stretcher up.”_

“Copy 4,” he replied, ducking behind the pillar and switching mags just as some trigger-happy tango took a few pot shots at him. Re-priming his gun, he crouched and popped out from around the corner, nailing the guy with a quick double tap to the chest. “Asshole,” he muttered. “Sonny, how many mags you got left?” 

“Uh, half a dozen or so,” the Texan replied, having just switched his own over and ducking out from behind his cover. “Couple’a flashbangs too.” 

“Alright,” he said, glancing over his shoulder when he heard boots behind him. Trent and Ray set down a stretcher, before hurrying down the stairs again. The poor lighting wasn’t overly helpful in identifying the brother they’d brought up – but going by the slim build he suspected it was Brock. “We’re going to call the chopper in once the others are with us, and we’re going to throw out the rest of those bangers as Snow lowers in – the helo will block out the blast for her enough that it won’t blind her, and will hopefully draw out anyone lingering when they can’t see.” 

“Sounds good boss man, I am ready to get the hell outta dodge.” 

“Copy that.” By god, was he ready to get out of this hellhole, too. 

They continued picking people off, and it wasn’t long before Ray and Trent were appearing in the tunnel entrance once again. 

“What’s the plan boss?” Ray asked as they set the second stretcher down behind the wall. “These boys need a hospital.” 

He nodded, and activated his radio. “Snow, this is 1.” 

_“Hi honey.”_

“We’re ready for evac,” he said, ignoring her response and his brothers muffled laughter. “As you come in, we’re going to light this place up with our flashbangs – draw out the remaining hostiles so we can clear them and load, how copy?”

_“Sounds like I’ll be making a banger of an entrance! I’ll see you in thirty seconds.”_

He exhaled heavily and bit his tongue, flipping his brothers off when they all snorted loudly. “Get ready,” he ground out. “Sonny, you and Ray are pitching.”

“Batter up, assholes,” Sonny replied cheerily, hiding behind a pillar and setting his gun down so he could grab the grenades from his pack. “This Texan knows how to play.”

The roar of the approaching helicopter broke the air – Snow’s helo coming to a hover and slowly starting to lower into the open area. “Now!” he yelled. Ray and Sonny lobbed their flashbang’s and ducked behind their cover again – and as soon as the multiple bangs were heard, all four of them popped out from behind their varying barriers and dropped whoever appeared. “Ray, you and Trent get the first stretcher on board! We’ll cover you and will bring the second one over!”

“Copy that!” Ray replied, and he and Trent ducked into the back room.

Protecting a helicopter, your brothers and your own back isn’t always easy in a hostile environment, and when two of your brothers are out of commission it’s even harder. How they managed to get Clay and Brock on board that helicopter, Jason still didn’t know; especially when the militia kept coming at them and refused to give up.

But the remainder of Bravo held them off, and when the last of them were through the door Snow was lifting away. He heaved a sigh of relief, taking a moment to thank whichever long past brothers were watching over him, before activating his radio.

“Havoc, 1; mission complete – we’re on our way home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently a static charge doesn’t actually exist, but it was the name of the device that popped in my head, so in the spirit of fan-writing it’s a thing! Essentially it’s a charge that you set on a power box, and when you activate it, it delivers a ‘static shock’ that’s strong enough to silently and permanently cripple a powerbox. Kinda like tasering it, is how I'm picturing it. I’m sure there’s something similar that actually exists, but who knows! 
> 
> Boa sorte – good luck 
> 
> Obrigada (f) - thank you 
> 
> Quem é Você - who are you?! 
> 
> O que você quer – what are you doing here 
> 
> Just to clarify, the riddle Rojas uses is one used around the world, and upon researching it to see just how the words were written, I came across the US version. Now, considering that version is considered offensive (and rightly so based on an old US version) to clarify – the NZ version is: 
> 
> Eeny, meeny, miny moe,  
> Catch a tiger by the toe.  
> If he squeals, let him go,  
> Eeny, meeny, miny moe.  
> Pig snout you're out 
> 
> Addmittedly, I’ve never heard the pig snout part, and loudly exclaimed WTF (at work) when I read it, but this is the version Rojas was using, in case anyone was upset about it.


	7. There's A Fire In My Veins

**A/N: Sorry this is a bit late folks! There were a couple of areas of this chapter that were fighting me, and I rewrote them I don't know HOW many times. It's fine now, I've beaten them into submission!**

**The next chapter is looking to be the last one, I think, but still undecided as I'm only part way through. And yes, I will try do a summary for everyone for the BIG story that is the sequel to this. Exciting times! I hope you all enjoyed the 2hr premiere last week, I loved it, and can't wait to see where those changes take us!**

**Special shout out to[knoXville](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoXville), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Ns100](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ns100), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Geek_is_my_middle_name](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geek_is_my_middle_name), [Mmccrory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mmccrory), [foreverpadfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverpadfoot), [AllAboutTheStory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory), [sakura_21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_21), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [MeldirielErulisse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeldirielErulisse), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [Idk34](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idk34), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [Bball25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bball25), [argallel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argallel), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [summeronice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summeronice), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [hayes14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayes14), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [AeroWright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroWright), and [strandedchesspiece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece) as well as the 80 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

Pain. He was certain that’s what was coursing through his body. Morphine too. Everything felt heavy, sluggish – like someone had parked an AC-130 gunship on top of him and left him to deal with it which, if they had? Not cool, guys.

“Hey, I think he’s coming around.”

Who was coming around? Him? Doubt it; wallowing on pain and medication sounded far better than going anywhere, thanks.

“Spenser?”

Nope, no Spenser here, buddy. Just him, plain old Clay Spen... oh. Wait. Shit. That was him. Bugger. Did that mean he had to respond? It probably meant he had to respond, didn’t it? Bugger. “Mmmm.”

“Come on princess, open yer eyes. Sleeping on the job is gunna earn you a bad rap.” There was the sound of something hitting something, and a yelp of pain. “What was that for?!”

“I told you to leave him alone, Sonny. He needs rest.”

Yeah Sonny, leave him alone. What’s a guy got to do to get some peace around here? Get injured? Seriously – mm. Okay, his back itched, if he could just – nope. Nope on second thought this position was _much_ better, because that other one was a hell of a lot more painful when he tried to shift. “Nghhh...”

“Told you he was wakin’.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you.”

Someone tutted, and next thing he knew there was a hand on his face and someone tugging at his eye – and shining a light in it. Rude! He glared at the offender, and whoever was trying to burn his retinas made a sound of surprise.

“Well that’s not at all creepy. Hiya Clay.”

He should win a medal or something for getting his other eye open, because damn was it a struggle to do so. “Go’ay,” he said. Slurred? He blew a breath which made his lips go weird. Heh. That tingled. “Tir’d.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” his offender laughed, pocketing the stick from hell. It took him a second to place the name, but eventually it broke through the foggy pain that had replaced his head. Trent. Bloody Trent. Can’t he see that he’s tired and hurting over here? “Good to see you awake, though. That makes one of you, at least. I’ll give you some more morphine for the pain, it’ll help you get some sleep.”

Wait, what did he mean, one of you? There were more of him? When did that happen?! Why didn’t anyone tell him he had – wait. Maybe... it wasn’t more of him? He frowned, trying to think and wincing when it made his head hurt even more. There was a memory of darkness, and pain, and laughing... and screaming.

“Nnnooo...” he managed to get out, feeling the memory come closer even as warmth flooded him. “Wwwaa...” He remembered pain filled screams, fingers spasming – the smell of something burning... A silent agreement, spoken through pain filled eyes... “Bbbbr...”

_Brock. Where was Brock?_

* * *

The next time he woke, the pain and fog had receded enough that he was able to think clearly, and hold a conversation.

He’d woken on his side, with what felt like a wedge jammed against his back and a blanket drawn up to his hips. Jason was sitting in a chair opposite him, reading a report, his brow furrowed in concentration and a hand idly tapping a pen against the chair – the clackclackclack of plastic striking plastic dragging him from his slumber, and not in a good way.

“That’s really annoying, y’know,” he croaked, wincing when his throat clicked painfully. Rubbing at his eyes he glared blearily at his MC, noting that his back tugged uncomfortably when he moved. “Trying to sleep here.”

Jason didn’t even flinch, hell – he didn’t even look up from his report, just smirked slightly and exchanged the pen for a cup; setting the straw by Clay’s lips. “I know.”

Drinking slowly, he rolled his eyes when Jason didn’t say anything else. “Rude. And thanks,” he yawned, looking around the room and frowning at the white and cream... everything. “Why’m I in the hospital?”

Jason set his report aside. “What do you remember?” he asked, looking at him intently while also firing off a text on the phone Clay was certain he wasn’t holding two seconds earlier.

“Um,” he thought about it, but gave it up when Jason’s expression caught his attention. The look on his MC’s face was... odd, to say the least. Like he was worried, or - “this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, is it?”

The worry changed to surprise, then relief which told him he was bang on the mark. That... was that something to be relieved about? He didn’t think so. “No, it’s not,” Jason replied, leaning back in his chair and bouncing his phone on his thigh. “You’ve got a mild concussion and have been in and out of it the last few days. You ask the same question each time, but tend to fall asleep again before we get a couple of sentences in.”

“Is that normal?” he asked, slightly panicked. If he was suffering amnesia, he could be medically discharged – which meant he wouldn’t be able to operate again. Not being able to operate, or carry on with State 21 wasn’t an option. But if a TBI made the decision for him...

“-ay. Clay!”

He jolted, looking at Jason with wide eyes and only just registering the hand on his arm, and the loud beeping that had filled the room.

“Breathe,” his MC ordered, squeezing his arm gently. “Just breathe. You’ll bring a nurse running, otherwise.” He did as he was ordered, and the beeping eventually stopped. The door opened and a man stuck his head in, but Jason waved him off after telling him everything was fine. Once the door had shut, Jason turned back to him, giving his arm another squeeze before leaning back in his chair again. “Like I was saying - you have a mild concussion which, considering what you went through, is a miracle in itself. You keep falling asleep because your brain is recovering, not to mention the drugs they’re pumping into you. It’s why you don’t remember asking the same question like – a hundred times now, or whatever.”

He inhaled shakily, looking up at Jason hopefully. “I don’t have amnesia?”

“Amnesia?” Jason repeated, stumbling over the question as though he didn’t know what it meant. “Why the hell – no, Clay, you don’t have amnesia. Christ kid.” Bravo 1 rolled his eyes. “I say you’ve been sleeping lots, and you jump to amnesia. Honestly.”

“Take pity on me, I’m injured,” he muttered, trying to hide the relief he felt at the news. He placed his hand on the mattress, well and truly sick of lying on his side and went to push himself onto his back – only to have Jason grab his arm and tug him back into place. “What -”

“Trent and Doc are on their way,” Jason told him. “Just stay where you are for now, and you can move once they’ve okay’d it.”

“Uh, okay?” He looked at the hand he’d braced against the mattress, then just let it... flop down next to him. There wasn’t much else he could do with it right now, was there? He paused when Jason’s statement actually registered in his poor, tired brain. “Wait, Doc?” Suffice to say, that confused the hell out of him, because hadn’t they been overseas? “Where am I, exactly? What hospital?”

“We’re home,” Jason replied, nodding when he made a sound of surprise. “Good old VaBeach - back at what is apparently your second home. Third, if you take the cages into consideration.”

“Funny,” he retorted, before falling silent again. He lay there quietly, so many questions swirling through his head. Why was he in hospital? What happened? How long would he be in here for? How long _had_ he been here for? How badly was he hurt? How had he – he froze when he realised he knew the answer to most of those; realised the drugs had just been making his brain a little slower than usual, rather than masking his memories, so he knew how he’d been injured – the circumstances surrounding them.

And he knew who was with him through the whole thing.

“Brock?” he breathed, looking at Jason with wide eyes. “What happened to him? Jase? Is he -”

“He’s alive,” Jason replied, looking and sounding tired. “He tried very much not to be, but he’s alive.”

“What happened?”

“When Trent and Doc get here, okay?”

Frustrated, but knowing there was no point in arguing he let it slide. He looked around the room, saw several odds and ends scattered on various surfaces that indicated his brothers had been there several times, but noticed a distinct lack of anything feminine. “Hey, does Rebecca know I’m here?”

Jason made an odd noise at that, running a hand down his face. “Yeah, she does,” he replied, but the response was slow, drawn out and put him on edge.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there, somewhere.”

“ _But_ , she hasn’t actually made it here yet.” Jason winced at whatever expression must’ve been on his face, and hurried to clarify. “She’s been held up in DC, or something. Sonny told me but I wasn’t actually paying attention to him at the time. Now that you’re awake, I’m sure she’ll be on the first flight here.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I’m sure she will be.” Weirdly, he didn’t completely believe that. Rebecca was very focused, very driven on her career. Not a lot got in the way of that – and he wondered if his being in hospital would be an exception to her ambitions, or if it would take a side-line like everything else. Then he wondered why he was thinking that in the first place – why he suddenly doubted his relationship meant as much to Rebecca as it did to him.

Thankfully, he was saved from his spiralling by the sound of the door opening, and smiled in greeting when the rest of his brothers barrelled in, closely followed by Doc.

“Platinum wonder!” Sonny exclaimed, sounding delighted and shoving Full Metal out of the way as he hurried over, ignoring Alpha 1’s snarl of “did you just shove me?” as he came to stand beside him and patted his head. “How’re you feeling, Claymation?”

“Are you going through a nickname withdrawal?” he asked, smiling slightly despite how tender his head still felt when the Texan touched it. “And I feel better than you probably will for pushing Metal outta the way.” He looked over at Alpha 1 and nodded. “Good to see you, by the way.”

Sonny shrugged, not even bothering to look at their friend who was busy cracking his knuckles from his spot by the bed. “Eh, Metal’s just shitty he missed out on all the fun. He goes away on a mission with his actual team then wham bam, Bam Bam! He misses out on a good ol’ firefight because he had to go be a security guard.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll show you how much of a security guard I can be when I throw your ass off the roof of this hospital,” Scott growled.

“Have we finished threatening each other?” Ray asked, sounding exasperated. “Cause I for one would like to know what happened, and I’m sure Clay has some questions of his own.”

“Clay will have to wait a minute,” Jason replied, looking at his phone. “Blackburn, Lisa and Mandy are on their way, too. They’ll be here in five.”

“That’s plenty of time for me,” Doc said, wheeling a cart over and elbowing a protesting Sonny out of the way none-too-gently. “Shut it Quinn, three of us can’t fit on this side of the bed and you’re about as useful as a bullet in the ass.” He handed Clay the cup of water while looking at him pointedly. “If you enjoy hospital food so much, you don’t have to get injured to have some, you know.”

He huffed a laugh and drank some more before handing it back. “Can’t blame me, those chocolate puddings are good, you know that. And is there any chance I can move onto my back? My arm’s starting to go numb.”

Someone touched his shoulder, making him jump. A quick look behind him showed it was Trent, and he was inspecting his back. “Hey, T.”

“Hey man,” Trent replied, looking at Doc and shrugging. “If the pressure doesn’t hurt, I don’t see why he can’t. They’re healing well.”

“Works for me,” Doc replied, removing the correctly suspected wedge from behind him. “Move carefully – if it hurts then we’ll just sit you up for a while, okay?”

He nodded, and rolled slowly onto his back. He could feel the skin tugging and pulling somewhat uncomfortably in places, and everything felt stiff as hell, but there wasn’t too much pain to speak of. Considering Rojas had flayed the shit out of it, he was grateful. He’d expected everything to hurt a lot more than it actually did.

“Very good,” Doc said, nodding in satisfaction and raising the bed enough that he was upright and able to look at them all, rather than flat on his back. “I’m just going to run some basic tests, then you should be all good to be interrogated.”

“Oh goody,” he muttered, but did everything without complaint. By the time Eric and the girls arrived, he’d been poked, prodded, had his retinas burned by Doc’s penlight-turned-lightsabre – and had been asked so many questions about ‘how was he feeling’ or ‘was there any pain’ or ‘is your vision blurry’ that he retorted and snapped that ‘yes his head did hurt, because of all the bloody questions!’ and got a pinch to the inside of his arm from Trent for his troubles.

“If he’s smart mouthing you, I’d say he’s back to normal,” Lisa teased from the end of his bed, patting his foot and smiling at him. “You look a right sight better than you did than the last time you were here.”

“He was ever normal?” Sonny snarked, smirking from the chair he’d dropped into in the corner. Clay just flipped him the bird.

“Alright,” Eric said loudly, silencing them all. He pulled out his phone and set it on the table beside the bed before folding his arms over his chest. “It’s good to see you awake, Spenser. As I’m sure you can imagine, we’re all very interested in hearing your AAR. To save you having to type it out later, this conversation is being recorded and will be transcribed by one of the guys in support.”

He nodded, grateful that he only had to go through this retelling once. Blackburn nodded back. “Just so you’re aware of what we know, after we lost comms with you, we had no way of tracking you. We eventually got access to a satellite, but had no idea where to start looking. Ensign Davis was monitoring and eventually discovered hostiles converging on a house. We saw you escape from the house, and them, to try and get away. We saw you arrive at a cliff, and...” Eric exhaled heavily through his nose, and Clay winced. Ah shit.

“Saw you jump off the side, and stop moving.”

Shooting a furtive glance at his brothers, they were all looking at him pointedly, and wholly unimpressed. Double shit. It was just his luck that there’d been overwatch after all.

“Care to expand on that, and what happened next?” Jason asked, resting his chin in one hand while tapping the fingers of the other on the arm of the chair. “I for one would _love_ to know more about your swan dive off the side of the mountain.”

He swallowed heavily. Oh, but he was a dead SEAL by the end of this. Now he knew how Brock felt these days. What was worse was that he didn’t even have Brock as backup – his brother somewhere in the hospital and unable to corroborate his story.

Knowing there was no way he could delay until he had his backup, he started at the beginning. How they’d taken the car but it had only lasted a couple of blocks before dying on them – neither of them had known why, just took one look at it, cursed Brazil out for the poor upkeep on everything before running again – and doing what they could to evade capture. How they’d somehow managed to lose their tail, but kept running until they were certain they were in the clear and tried to find a building that only had one entrance – which was harder than they’d thought – and also had food. How they’d only intended to take shelter till nightfall, and had planned on trying to get out of the favela so they could drive back to base.

“I don’t know how they found us,” he admitted, aborting his shrug when his back ached in protest. “We made sure there was no evidence that indicated where we were, and were quiet the whole time. We heard them creeping around outside – it’s when we knew we’d been made and tried to crawl out. They open fired, blew half the building up then came running in; I got clipped by falling rubble so Brock had to drag me out through a hole. We ran, but we both took a bullet to our back plates almost straight away; we’re bloody lucky it didn’t pierce the kevlar, that’s for damn sure.

“We just... ran. We had no idea where we were, or where we were going – we just did what we could to get away. They were obviously herding us towards the cliff, it’s the only thing that makes sense.” He huffed a laugh. “Either that or they were really lousy shots. We got to the cliff – figured broken bones were better than bullets, and jumped.”

“Just like that?” Jason said, looking livid. “You didn’t even _try_ work out how far down the drop was?!”

“In our defence, we were running from the militia at the time,” he said, well aware of how affronted he sounded. “I doubt asking them for a topo map so we could work out the drop distance would’ve gone down all that well, Jase.”

“Leave it, Jay,” Ray warned when Bravo 1 opened his mouth to argue. “The drop wasn’t all that far at the end of the day; couple’a stories at most. They’re alive, we’ll revisit this another time.” The look on his boss’ face told him they would most certainly be revisiting it, and Clay rolled his eyes.

“We hit the bottom – probably hit every bloody branch on the way down – and rolled to a stop. Think I hit my head, cause I could hardly see, but I saw Brock; he wasn’t moving at all. Heard laughter then passed out. When I woke, we were in a cell or something. There was a light in the corner, and some candles. Brock was tied to a chair opposite me, I was chained to the roof – could only just touch the ground.”

“Was Reynolds conscious?” Doc asked, his pad on the table next to him, notes already scrawled across the page.

He nodded. “He was awake before me, just sitting there while Rojas was doing something behind him. He wasn’t gagged yet, but didn’t say anything – just glared at me so I knew he was telling me to stay quiet and stay still. When Rojas realised we were awake, he came over – had a couple of needles with him.” He looked at Trent. “Did you see those?”

“Luckily for you, boss found one in the corner,” Trent replied, and he sighed in relief. At least their injections wouldn’t come as a surprise to the medics. “You know what was in it?”

He shook his head, shuddering slightly. “Said it was a drug of his own design. It was awful – it felt like my nerves were on fire; everything was just...” he didn’t know how to explain it. A shift of air had felt like a slap – the touch of the whip was like being hit by a car; the pain magnified tenfold that he honestly had no idea how he’d stayed conscious as long as he had. He had no idea how Brock had stayed conscious, either, considering what was done to him.

“We sent a sample to the CIA,” Trent told him. “Turns out it’s a new one they’ve only just come across in the last few months. It’s known as a Spider Bite – it’s used to heighten a person’s nerves; specifically, to make interrogation and torture that much more painful.”

“If Rojas was the one making it, guess we don’t have to worry about it getting out there for people to get their hands on,” Ray mused, frowning at Mandy when she shook her head.

“Aside from the fact the CIA is probably replicating it as we speak for their own purposes, it won’t take a genius to work out what was in it, and replicate it as much as possible,” their spook said.

“And even if they can’t get the formula right, there could be bastardised versions out there which could be even worse,” Lisa groaned. “Damn.”

“How long does it last in someone’s system?” he asked, looking at Doc worriedly. “There any left in mine?”

“From what we know, it has a relatively short lifespan once active in the blood,” Mandy told him, smiling sympathetically. “And there’s no sign it can be addictive. The withdrawal can be pretty unpleasant, but they kept you sedated through yours so you weren’t affected by it.”

When he looked at Doc, the medic nodded in confirmation. “The CIA sent me a list of stuff to flush that crap out of your system faster so you didn’t suffer any longer than necessary. You’re good Clay.”

“Movin’ on from Crocodile Blondie’s unhealthy habits,” Sonny drawled, grinning when Clay flipped him the bird again. “What happened next?”

The exasperation he’d felt at yet another nickname quickly faded. He swallowed thickly. “He wanted answers. Wanted to know exactly who we were; who we worked for. At first he just asked – said he would give us one chance to spare ourselves pain. Neither of us answered, so he decided a demonstration of his drug was necessary. The bastard was focused only on Brock; said he was the one that tackled him out the window, so he’d pay – I was collateral. He told us that the drugs would be kicking in quickly, before he grabbed the whip.” The way Rojas had spoken to his brother had been disturbing, to say the least – his focus on Brock had creeped him out, but also worried him. A man obsessed would do anything to get what he wanted – and he doubted Rojas was any different.

When neither of them said anything, he’d brought the whip down on his back. It wasn’t hard, hell it hardly made a sound – but his nerves didn’t know that, they just screamed as though burned by fire. He’d barely been able to fight through the pain; but he’d fought it pretty quickly when Rojas dumped half a bucket of water over Brock’s head, wrapped steel cables around him and touched the jumper leads to them for the first time. Brock’s head had snapped back, the muscles and tendons in his neck straining, fingers spasming. His mouth open in a silent yell.

The leads were only on him for a couple of seconds.

_“You liked that pain? Huh?” Rojas asked, twirling a cable while looking between them both. “That is what will happen if you do not answer my questions. Now, who are you?”_

_Brock looked at him, panting heavily, the lingering pain etched in his face, and shook his head. The tiniest of movements, but it was enough._

_He looked at Brock hard before turning at Rojas. “Go to hell.”_

“He started on me first, figured my suffering would make Brock talk. Or me, but he was mostly interested in Brock. I don’t know how long he whipped me for – it all kinda blurred after the first couple of hits. But I didn’t say anything; neither of us did. When I didn’t cave, he decided that maybe Brock needed some... encouragement.” He shuddered, and looked at Jason. “He was in so much pain, Jase. The cables... he felt every touch, every time, and the gag in his mouth muffled his screams. He was in so much pain, and...” he broke off, swallowing harshly. The next words he forced out were ones he couldn’t get above a whisper. “I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ray said, placing a hand on his leg – his expression pained. “You didn’t torture him. You can’t blame yourself.”

He scoffed, sniffing wetly. When had he gotten teary? Must be the drugs. “Yeah, well. Easier said than done,” he replied, wiping his nose and looking back down at his lap. “You weren’t the one who had to listen.”

“Clay?” he looked at Doc, saw his pen poised over the page of his notebook, a hard look in his eyes and Clay knew exactly what he was going to ask. Dreaded answering. “What happened to Brock?”

“You’re asking if his heart stopped.” Doc nodded, and he nodded back, ignoring several sharp inhales that various members of his team made. “Rojas was a bit... gung-ho with electrocuting Brock, he wasn’t really paying attention to what it was doing to him. Brock just, slumped, I guess.” It was the only way he could describe how Brock had gone from ramrod straight, every muscle taught and bulging, to slumping in his chair, unmoving, the moment Rojas removed the clamps. The smell of burning flesh had overpowered everything else, but his attention had solely been on his motionless brother. He’d called out tentatively, and even Rojas had paused, nudging Brock’s shoulder uncertainly.

The nudge had rocked his brother slightly, but there’d been no resistance to the push and the realisation of what had happened set in – he remembered the icy horror racing through his veins when he realised that Rojas had just killed his brother. _"You killed him.” He stared, disbelieving, before it actually sunk in. “YOU KILLED HIM!” he roared, fighting his chains desperately as he tried to break free to get to Brock. “YOU FUCKER! YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM!”_

_Rojas had the gag out, the cables off and his brother’s body on the ground in an instant – and much to Clay’s shock, he started CPR. The action was so unexpected he froze, before he realised that the only reason Rojas was trying to save Brock was so he could continue torturing him. He fought his restraints with a vengeance – ignored the way the movements strained his muscles, the pain that erupted in the tendons – the sound of the chains clinking furiously even as the metal bit further into his wrists. He ignored the fact that the tightening chains felt as though his hands were being crushed – he’d give up both his hands and then some if it meant freeing himself so he could get to Brock._

_It felt like forever that he fought – forever that his eyes were glued to Brock’s limp form as it rocked slightly from Rojas’ chest compressions. Then, to his horror, Rojas snarled – striking Brock across the face with a growl before grabbing him by the hair and unceremoniously yanking him upright. “LET HIM GO!” He roared, fighting harder – cursing the man in multiple tongues as he wrapped one of the cables back around Brock’s chest before grabbing the battery pack. “YOU FUCKER! HE’S ALREADY DEAD, LEAVE HIM ALONE!”_

_But Rojas ignored him – fiddled with something on the pack before attaching one clamp to the wire, and touching the second one to it. Brock’s body jolted, but rather than the faint jolt of electricity flowing through him, Brock’s limbs twitched violently – quickly followed by deep, rasping coughs. He froze, eyes trained on his brother as he continued to gasp for air, a dead weight in Rojas’ arms as he was hauled up off the ground and dumped back in his chair._

_Brock was so out of it that he didn’t even resist as his arms were once again tied to the chair, but he did start to fight weakly when the cables were replaced._

_Eyes filled with tears of pain met his, and Clay did his best to convey something, anything that would offer his brother some form of comfort. It was wishful thinking, but even as Brock’s breathing evened out, not once did he look away; holding Clay’s eyes as he tried to refocus himself – settle in the mind-set all operators learned to withdraw to in times of torture._

_“My apologies,” Rojas said, coming to stand between them both and folding his arms across his chest. “I underestimated the intelligence of my men – I told them specifically what voltage to have for me so this wouldn’t happen, and yet it did.” He tutted and shook his head. “It won’t happen again.”_

_Neither of them answered, but it was unlikely he expected them to. “Do you know what I studied as a hobby when I was young?” Rojas asked. They stayed silent, and the man huffed a laugh. “Medicine. I made my first amateur hitman mistake when I was ten – killed my hostage and didn’t know how it happened, beyond the fact I’d stabbed him. You’d be amazed by how much one can learn with a couple of years dedicated towards learning the functions of the human body and how to manipulate it. It was a very... interesting experience.”_

_The man carded a hand through Brock’s hair before gripping it and yanking his head backwards. His brother inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth as he was forced to look at the man. “Rest assured – I will not make the mistake of stopping your heart again. But you will wish I had.” He let go and set Brock’s gag back into place before grabbing the whip off the floor. Clay glared at him but stayed silent, even when he ran the leather cord down his back – tutting as he went. “These are not nearly deep enough,” he said, pressing the handle into one of wounds, and Clay grit his teeth, eyes slamming shut as the nerves burst into flame at the touch. Goddamn drugs. “Let’s fix that for you, shall we?”_

“Jesus Christ,” Jason muttered, and Clay looked at him. The man was three shades whiter and green around the gills. A quick look proved that the others weren’t much better. “How long?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, Jase. It felt like forever – I don’t even know how long he had us for.”

“Four hours,” Trent replied, sounding hollow. Clay couldn’t bring himself to look at the medic. To have the man hate Rojas for what he’d done was one thing, but Clay couldn’t handle having that ire turned on him too – see the disappointment and disgust in his eyes because he couldn’t get free of his bonds to help their brother, and Trent’s best friend. He nodded, but didn’t look up. “From the time they took you, to when we got there it was just over four hours.”

“What happened next?” Eric asked. He looked up, found his LC looking grey, but composed.

He shrugged, exhaling heavily. “He just... kept going. Eventually the lights went out, although I didn’t really notice that at first. But he became more frantic in his movements – he started whipping me harder, and the pain...” he huffed a laugh. “Guess my body couldn’t cope. I blacked out soon after – if Brock was unconscious when you found us, then Rojas probably worked him over next.” He looked at Jason, and knocked his MC’s hand when he saw the man staring off into the distance. “What happened to him? Rojas, I mean?”

“Ray took him out,” Jason replied, shaking off whatever thought had made him pensive and turning back to him. “You were both out cold when we found the tunnel, and he was going to kill one of you – Ray got there first.”

“Turns out my assumption that there’d be a power play in the favela was wrong,” Ray added quietly. “I’m sorry Clay. If we’d taken Rojas out when we had him, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It ain’t your fault,” he replied. “We didn’t know Rojas’ men were as loyal to him as they were. And if they hadn’t been, we probably would’ve been dead long before you got to us. We should be thankful it was Rojas and not anyone else. This ain’t on you.”

Ray smiled weakly, but didn’t reply. Turning to Doc, he said: “what am I looking at, injury wise?”

“Everything’s superficial, all things considered,” Doc replied, patting him on the arm. “Trent did a bang-up job with the stitches and glue once the boys had you cleaned up. You’ll probably lose some sensation in your back, what with how deep some of those lashes go, but we didn’t have to do much else for you. Aside from that you have four cracked ribs from both the fall and the bullet to your kevlar, a mild concussion and the musculature injuries from being strung up for so long. You’ll be out of action for a few months, at least, but I see no reason you shouldn’t make a full recovery.”

The tension left his shoulders, and he nodded. How he’d gotten off lightly, he had no idea, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “And Brock?”

“His condition is a bit more complex,” Doc replied. “Electrocution can cause a raft of issues for the human body if it’s subjected to a strong current, and from what you’re saying, Reynolds was subjected to it multiple times.”

“Issues like what?” He asked, looking at Doc worriedly. Despite everything that had happened, despite the fact that he and Brock had survived, there was a sour sensation in his gut that even though they’d been found, Brock wasn’t going to walk away in one piece. The longer he waited for an answer from somebody, the bigger that feeling grew.

“Burning of organs,” Trent replied, monotone, and he froze – swallowing harshly. Oh god. “Heart dysrhythmia. Best we can tell, Brock was sent into cardiac arrest by the excessive current. Rojas shocked his heart back into starting, but it wasn’t beating properly. He crashed when we got you on the helo – thankfully Snow had a defib on board so we were able to keep him going, but he crashed again not long after we got on the jet. We got him back, and he stayed relatively stable for the flight home. Once he arrived at the hospital Doc ran a procedure that ensured his heart went back to its normal rhythm; he’s been under close observation since.”

He shoved the covers down, horror and panic swirling within him. No. _No._ What they went through couldn’t be for nothing. It _couldn’t be_. Multiple hands grabbed him, and he swatted at them, fighting the hold they suddenly had. “I need to see him,” he growled. “I need – damn it, let me go!”

“Clay. Clay!” Doc snapped, grabbing his shoulder and his attention. “Reynolds is sedated, has been since you arrived. Yes, he suffered burns to his organs but we’re lucky they aren’t as bad as they could been – the kid probably just used up another of his lives, but as long as his recovery progresses as it should, he’ll be okay.”

“Then why is he sedated?” he countered. Brock was here, somewhere, and he was hurting and alone. “You hate keeping any of us sedated longer than necessary Doc – if he was fine he’d be awake already!”

“He’s sedated because the burns – internal _and_ external - would be causing him immense pain if he were conscious. He’s as comfortable as he can be, all things considered.” Doc glared at him, and the look was enough to stop his struggling. “Wilson is currently with him, as is Cerberus. They’re both keeping an eye on him. He’s okay.”

“Wilson?” he repeated, then looked at Jason for clarification. He wasn’t sitting back, but he wasn’t fighting them anymore either. “As in Kit Wilson? Wasn’t he overseas?”

“Their training mission got cut short early,” Jason replied, shrugging dismissively. “I don’t know the details, but he and Delta arrived back a few days ago; turned up here the moment they heard.”

He nodded, relieved at the fact that not only was Brock not alone, but he was with someone they all trusted. “I want to see him.”

“You’re not going to be a peaceful patient, are you?” Doc asked. When he shook his head, the man rolled his eyes. “Once you’ve had some food you can go see him. Wheelchair for transport _only_. You are by no means healed, and I will not have you doing anything that will jeopardise your recovery, you hear me?”

“Crystal. And I want at least two chocolate puddings. You touch them Quinn, and I’ll kick your ass.”

Sonny cackled as he stood up and left the room, presumably to fetch his food, and Clay watched the others as they slowly dispersed now that his debrief was over. That was when the reality of the situation sunk in; the fact that if his brothers hadn’t come back for them or found them in time, he would have had the death of a close friend on his shoulders, or he would never have seen his family again. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking a moment to ground himself and thank whoever was watching over him for dragging him through this in one piece once again.

There was a tap to his shoulder, and he ducked his head, peering at Trent sideways but unable to meet his eyes.

“Clay?”

“Yeah?” he replied, subconsciously bracing for... something. He wouldn’t have blamed Trent if the man blamed him for what happened – not in the slightest, because he should have tried harder to free himself. To protect Brock just as his brother had protected him in the favela. To say he felt like a failure was an understatement.

“Look at me. As fascinating as the top of your head is, it’s not what I want to see.”

“Do I have to?”

Trent sighed heavily and perched on the side of his bed, and had the audacity to tug his ear.

Clay slapped the medics hands away, and glared at him. “Ow. Brain injury, remember?”

“I pulled your ear,” Trent replied, smirking at the look he was given. “Unless your brain is in there, you’re fine.”

He continued glaring, but the unofficial staring contest was one he had to surrender quickly, because his head still hurt. “Don’t be mean to me, I’m injured.”

“Don’t I know it,” Trent chuckled. “Listen, you need to stop blaming yourself for what happened,” he continued, looking at him knowingly. “Brock is just... a magnet for injuries, at the moment. Much to my annoyance. And yeah, what Rojas did to him is shit but you can’t blame yourself for it.”

“Brock saved me.” He knew Trent was right, but it was a bitter pill to swallow all the same. “When we fell the first time, when the militia found us, when they shot us both down... he saved me, Trent. Each time. The least I could’ve done was return the favour, but I didn’t.”

Trent shook his head and carefully tousled his hair. “You and I both know you’re the last person Brock will blame for what happened. And when he wakes up, he’ll tell you the same thing. You were chained up, Clay. Jase had to use bolt cutters to get you free – if we couldn’t get them off without help then there was no way in hell you were going to get them off yourself.”

Clay blinked, surprised. “You used bolt cutters?”

“That’s right. Like I said – stop blaming yourself. If we had to cut you down, there was no way you were getting out of there.”

He looked at his wrists and for the first time registered the bandages that were wrapped around them. Lifting up the edge of one of them, he saw the deep, purple-blue, chain-patterned bruising that decorated them. For the bruises to be that deep, and that colour days later further proved just how tight his bonds had been.

There was truth to Trent’s words, the evidence of that littered his wrists. But the memories of Brock’s screams, the pain he was in – the fact that he had nearly _died_ because they’d both refused to talk... it was something he couldn’t quite wrap his head around, let alone accept. Not right now, when he had yet to see his brother – talk to him about what had happened.

“I’m going to go check on him,” Trent said, but when Clay looked up again the medic was looking at Jason. “Give Kit a break for a bit.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jason replied. He turned to Clay and clapped him on the shoulder as he stood. “Enjoy your pudding Spense. We’ll see you later.”

“I’ll be there soon,” he said, looking at them both pointedly.

“Yeah kid, we know you will.”


	8. Once Again Together Again

**A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! We're nearly at the end of 2020 - I hope you're all cautiously optimistic for 2021 like I am! I had hoped to have had this out on Christmas Day itself, but as I've only been 98% happy with this chapter for some time, it's been hard. There's been multiple proofreads, and edits, and yet I'm still uncertain over a couple of sections of Brock in the hospital. I'm hoping you guys enjoy what is essentially the last chapter - that it wraps things up nicely in preparation for the next story - and that my doubting is for nothing and is simply in my head!**

**Thank you for joining me on this crazy journey that has been this story and this series; your enthusiasm for it has been absolutely wonderful, and I think you deserve a drink after all this, considering the chaos this story has once again dragged you on! I'm away for New Years; my first time having it off ever - so I'm looking forward to exploring Northland, enjoying the sun and the beaches; ready and refreshed for more writing when I return!**

**A special shout out to Remiparker,[mercuryfire_6471](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryfire_6471), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), [Ihave37_cats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihave37_cats), [knoXville](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoXville), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Ns100](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ns100), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Geek_is_my_middle_name](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geek_is_my_middle_name), [Mmccrory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mmccrory), [foreverpadfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverpadfoot), [AllAboutTheStory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory), [sakura_21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_21), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [MeldirielErulisse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeldirielErulisse), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [Idk34](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idk34), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [Bball25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bball25), [argallel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argallel), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [summeronice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summeronice), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [hayes14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayes14), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [AeroWright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroWright), and [strandedchesspiece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece) as well as the 92 guests who've commented and kudosed - you guys are awesome!**

* * *

Trent shut the door and exhaled slowly, shaking his head in exasperation. “I need a holiday,” he decided aloud. “But those two have to be on lockdown in their cages so everyone knows where they are at all times; otherwise I’m going to worry about coming back to half of them, and I don’t want that straight after a break.”

Jason sniggered. “If you had to, which half would you prefer to come back to?”

He raised a finger in warning. “Nonono, don’t you even start - you'll jinx them and then we really will have to lock them down for peace of mind!”

“I have leashes for a reason, Trent.”

“Those aren’t as reassuring as you seem to think,” he retorted. “Besides, I think we need something a bit more fool proof. Maybe Blackburn will take pity on me and sign off on recreational leave for them in military prison if I go away.”

Snorting loudly, Jason clapped him on the shoulder and led him down the corridor. “If anyone deserves down time from those two and their constant mishaps, it’s you,” he agreed. “And I’m sure Blackburn would happily sign off on whatever you asked him too to make it happen. So, I'm thinking three months on a tropical island, maybe? Beaches, ocean, sun, sand. Scantily clad women. Sounds relaxing. I'm sure Snow would be happy to drop you off on her way home.”

He shuddered, which made Jason scoff in disbelief. “I’d say it sounds great, but I'd be bored within a week.” He could see it now; he did enough swimming for work, so it’s not like there’d be any novelty there, and lying by a pool with a piña colada and a book would make him tear his hair out within an hour. He needed mountains, trails and adventure – something he could lose himself in for a whole day and be physically exhausted by at the end, but mentally refreshed.

If he couldn’t have that then he’d settle for a dark, beer-slicked pub with his brothers, plenty of booze, a dart board and a pool table. As weird as it sounded, being around the people he cared about was far more relaxing than being in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do. Which meant they’d have to do a group trip away again. Bugger.

“C’mon Trent, work with me here,” Jason groused, thumping him on the arm. “We’re trying to plan a holiday for you.”

He looked at his boss, exasperated. “I know you well enough to say you’d be bored shitless doing that too, so why on earth would you think it’d be something I’d enjoy?” he countered, smirking when Jason made a sound of reluctant agreement. “I don’t think tropical holidays are meant for people like us.”

“Probably not,” Bravo 1 agreed, slowing to a stop in front of the vending machine. He pulled out his wallet and stuck a note in, before selecting a chocolate bar. As they waited for the candy, Jason looked at him thoughtfully.

“What?” Did he want to know? Probably not. Those looks could mean anything, but he knew for sure it was never anything good. “I got something on my face?”

“What did you think?” Jason asked, grabbing the chocolate bar and nodding back at Clay’s room. “About what Spense told us?”

Well that wasn’t as bad as he expected. He leaned against the opposite wall and ran a hand through his hair. “I think we’re lucky we got them both back alive,” he replied, the memory of what they’d heard forcing a deep, steadying breath from his lungs.

Of all the scenarios he’d run through in his head over the past week about what had happened, actually hearing it was harder to stomach. Rojas hadn’t held back on them, not that he'd have expected him to, but knowing what the pair had gone through... he was happy forgetting about the specifics if he could.

“Honestly Jase? I don’t want to focus on what happened if I don’t have to.” He felt somewhat guilty about saying that aloud, but it was the truth. He didn’t want to focus on the fact that the sight of Clay’s skin, hanging in literal shreds from his back had made his stomach turn. He didn’t want to focus on the fact that he’d known electrocution could spell death for his best friend – had almost guaranteed it when he saw the extent of the damage, saw the burn marks across his chest. He didn’t want to focus on the fact that when he attached the defib to Brock, the device had told him his friend was in V-Tach, then watched him crash not long after. He didn’t want to focus on the desperation he’d felt, seen on Ray’s face as they forced air into his lungs with a resus bag, stopping only when the machine told them too – and eventually, thankfully, managed to bring him back.

He didn’t want to focus on the fact that once again there had been only him, and one too many brothers in need of his help.

“I just want to focus on the fact that we got them back, and that they’re alive. Focus on their recoveries. We got what we wanted from Rojas, and we got revenge on the bastard.” He chewed his lip before looking back at his brother. “We got what we came for; there’s no point hanging onto what happened. It'll just make us all angry if we do, and with nowhere to direct that anger... it'll be worse for us in the long run.”

Jason eyed him, the look contemplative before he huffed, nodding briefly. “Can’t argue with that.” Grabbing the bar from the bottom of the machine Jason unwrapped it and took a bite. “C’mon, we better get to Brock before Wilson draws a moustache on him again.”

Eyes widening and uttering a quick “ah shit!”, he pushed off the wall and hot-footed it down the corridor; knowing full well that while Jason was joking, it was absolutely something Kit would do again despite the multiple warnings and threats of bodily harm he’d been given last time.

* * *

Leaning back in his seat, Kit recapped the marker and tapped it against his lip while admiring his handiwork.

“Sexy, Broccoli - you'll have the ladies falling over you in no time,” he sniggered, pulling out his phone and shuffling closer so he could get some selfies with his friend. “What do you think, Bus? Dad look good?”

The malagator didn’t even look at him, simply huffing from his spot between his handler’s legs, his nose under Brock's limp hand in the closest semblance of a pat the canine could manage. Shaking his head in both fondness and sympathy for the pup, Kit pulled up his camera and got to work.

Some ridiculous number of posed photos later, the door was shoved open with such force he dropped his phone onto the bed with a meep of surprise, before realising who had arrived. He feigned disinterest as they marched in, thumbing open his gallery so he could check the quality of his work.

“Bloody hell Wilson,” Hayes groaned, the first in the room and glaring at him. “Seriously?”

Caught red-handed and totally unashamed of the fact, he grinned and looked up as Trent entered hot on Bravo 1’s heels, cackling when the medic face-palmed. “What?” he sniggered, sitting back in his seat and waving at his friend. “I think he looks great!”

Trent smacked him over the head as he passed, and he sat there grinning as the two members of Bravo inspected their brother. “Is that... paint?” Trent asked, poking Brock's forehead carefully, scratching at a bit of the green. “Wait, is that -” Trent glared at him. “Seriously?”

“He's my little green floret!” he cackled, wheezing with laughter when he watched the realisation of what he was looking at smack the Great Jason Hayes in the face. Brock's forehead had been painted a dark green that blended into his hairline, and was framed by a lighter green that ran down his nose and an inch either side in what he thought was an accurate representation of a broccoli stalk. The camo-paint compact he found in his locker the night before had worked wonders.

“You are such an ass,” Trent sighed, one hand over his mouth and doing a poor job of covering his smile. “At least it wasn’t sharpie this time.”

“Oh no no, there is sharpie.” He pulled the collar of Brock's shirt aside, exposing his chest and grinning widely when Jason and Trent groaned.

Safely away from all the burn marks and scattered across the unblemished skin, were a number of doodles in thick black ink. _B.F + K.W. Kiss me, I’m a SEAL. Who let the dogs out? (I did). Poke here. I’m feeling a little... steamed. Kit Wilson was here. And here. And here._ And his personal favourite: _I’m a little soupy today_. There were also random hearts, dicks, spirals and anything else that had taken his fingers fancy littering the area. He was very impressed with his handiwork, if he did say so himself.

“He’ll kill you when he wakes up,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. Then he pulled out his phone and took some photos of his own. Kit looked at him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Trent doing the same. “Evidence,” Hayes added defensively as he pocketed the device again.

“That’s fine by me,” he replied, feeling the amusement ebb away as he looked at his sleeping friend. “As long as he wakes up, that’s all I care about.” Part of always being cheerful was because he didn’t do angst overly well – he found it to be an unnecessary waste of energy over something he couldn’t control. So he used humour instead – the need to bring a smile to people’s faces stronger than wallowing in his own feelings. That, and he wouldn’t get away with this shit with anyone else. Brock had done the same – if not worse - to him in the past; so he was merely returning the favour.

Some would call his humour a mask, others would call it diversion tactics. He preferred to think of it as the only way to keep his sanity intact when his biffle turned his ‘trouble come find me’ magnet on for shits and giggles.

“Kit.” He turned to the medic, who was looking at him knowingly. “I told you he'd wake up. He's under sedation, not in a coma.”

“You also said he was having heart issues,” he countered. Of all the injuries Brock had suffered recently, that was what worried him most – each and every time. Bones could be fixed – but permanent heart damage? That would be his career over, even without taking the affect oxygen deprivation could’ve had on his brain into consideration. “If he was deprived of oxygen because he stopped breathing, he could be a few florets short of a broccoli when he wakes.”

“You’re a few florets short of a broccoli,” Trent retorted, before visibly grimacing. “And I cannot believe that just came out of my mouth.”

Despite the niggling worry, the comment made him smirk. It was good to see he was wearing Bravo down one by one.

Apparently Jason thought that too, because he gave him the stink eye. “Wilson, quit contaminating my operators with your weirdness,” Hayes grumbled, turning his attention to Cerberus and spoiling the malagator with belly rubs. “I can’t have them spouting shit like that on missions – how will anyone take them seriously?”

“You're very welcome, mon capitan!”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Well your best can go on a break. We've got it covered for now, and Cerb needs a run. Clay is awake, so he'll probably be here by the time you get back.”

He perked up at that. Finally, some good news! “He alright?”

“A bit sore, but no worse for wear.”

“His back would say otherwise.” He shuddered at the memory of seeing the damage Clay had sustained for the first time. His back had looked horrific, the skin broken by lines of black stitches and surrounded by red. His friend reminded him of a patchwork quilt, and not in a good way. “He in any pain?”

Trent shook his head, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “The sedation over the last week has done him good,” the medic replied. “Between that and the lack of movement, his body has had time to start knitting itself back together. As long as he doesn’t do anything stupid for the foreseeable future, they should heal well.”

“It's Clay; good luck with that,” he reminded them, although he was beyond relieved for the sniper. With a good rehab plan, Clay would be running around in no time.

Deciding to take the pair up on their offer of a break, he pushed to his feet and groaned when his muscles protested the movement – evidence he'd been sitting down too long. A quick glance at the time confirmed he’d been in his chair for well over two hours. “Come on Bus,” he said to the canine, twisting and popping his back. “Time for walkies!”

The malagator looked at him, but didn’t budge.

Well, didn’t that make him feel special. “You brat,” he pouted, “you’re making me look stupid in front of the grownups.”

“You don’t need the dog to help you with that,” Jason replied, pressing a kiss to the dog's head. “Go on Cerb. We'll watch out for your dad. Go be a lunatic so you can see Clay.”

Huffing as though he were deliberately being hard-done by, Cerberus stood and gave Brock's limp hand a quick lick before hopping off the bed and trotting to the door.

Kit opened it for him, and followed Cerberus out of the room. “See you soon pops,” he chirped over his shoulder, laughing loudly at the splutters of indignation and shutting the door before either SEAL could reply.

“Between Brock, Clay and now Kit, I’m going to go grey before my time,” Jason sighed. “‘Pops’ my ass.”

Trent rolled his eyes but didn’t reply. Jason would get over it; he had too if he wanted to survive the toddlers he unfortunately had on his team, or that was associated with it. He wandered over to the bathroom and wet a sponge before carrying it back to the bed. “Honestly, that’s the last time he watches over Brock by himself. It took me ages to remove this shit last time, and there wasn’t as much.”

“Not to mention, its camo paint he used,” Jason chuckled as he grabbed a towel. “You think there'll be a next time?”

Frowning, he looked around and immediately spotted the field-compact the navy gave them sitting on the bedside table. He groaned loudly; that shit was not designed to come off easily. “God damn him. And yes Jase, there’ll be a next time; it’s Brock.”

“That was a bit of a stupid question, wasn’t it?”

He put zero effort into supressing his sigh and eyeroll as he got to work. “You think?”

* * *

Three days after Kit's face painting session, Brock woke for the first time.

Doc had been systematically reducing the drug that was keeping the handler under so it wasn’t a shock to his system when the sedative left him altogether; allowing his body to feel and adjust to the pain in a controlled and monitored environment. With every reduction Doc made, Brock's stats held steady, so their hope for a full recovery grew even further.

In typical Brock style, when he finally did wake none of them knew it. One minute they were gathered around a table at the end of the bed, compulsory bags of skittles and beer scattered amongst them and doing their usual shit talking, and the next Sonny almost sent the table flying in shock when, clear as day, Brock croaked: “Fuck you’re loud.”

Skittles abandoned and cards pocketed to stop cheaters, they all gathered around the bed, grinning down at the handler who had his hand buried in Cerb's fur and was grumpy personified.

“What’s a guy got to do to get some peace and quiet around here? Get blown up again?” he grumbled, eyes at half-mast and feeling for all the world like he’d been hit by a truck. Half of them laughed, the other half made distressed choking sounds.

“That is _not_ funny,” Ray said, wagging his finger. Brock just stared at it, going slightly cross-eyed with how close it was to his face while wondering if it was supposed to be intimidating. “Last time was hard enough, thank you.”

He shrugged and placed his hands against the mattress, planning on pushing himself upright – but groaned and gave it up the moment he moved. Every fibre of his being felt like it was on fire, the nerves oversensitive to every little movement to the point that shifting even a millimetre felt like he'd already run a mile. He’d seen the drip above the bed, so he knew he still had painkillers in his system – but to be feeling as raw as he did with something masking the pain? He must be on the really good stuff because he dreaded to think what it would feel like without them.

Trent bustled to the front and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Brock resolutely ignored the pain the light touch caused. “Your muscles were put through a lot,” the medic said. “Don’t try do anything right now. If you want to be raised a little, just say and I’ll lift the head of the bed.”

“Please,” he rasped, then tried clearing the dryness in his throat – only to grimace when it made the pain even worse. A cup and straw was held out to him, and he realised the person giving it to him was none other than Clay himself. Wheelchair bound and looking tired, his brother and friend was beside him. Alive.

“Hey man.”

Clay smiled, the corner of his lip quirking upwards as he held the cup steady. “Hey Broccoli.”

Taking a couple of mouthfuls, because he was more than familiar with this song and dance by now to know that too much at once wasn’t as good a thing as it appeared, he tried not to whimper when the raising bed made his muscles scream in protest.

“Sorry, sorry,” Trent apologised, watching intently like he usually did whenever he was in hospital. His brother probably needed a holiday after all this. “It’s done. You can relax now.”

He exhaled shakily, forcing away the tension in his muscles. It took a while – in fact it took longer than he'd like to admit, but fibre by fibre he managed to relax them, and oh so very slowly he had his body back under control.

“Brock,” Ray said from his spot half way down the bed. “How long have you been awake for?”

“Uh…” he tried to work it out, but his brain kept drifting when it tried to make sense of time. Eventually, he put those calculations in the too hard basket. “A while.” It was an answer they probably wouldn’t be happy with, but it was all he had. All he knew was that he'd woken when they'd entered the room, but hadn’t opened his eyes because he'd needed some time to work out where he was – his ears hadn’t been working all that well, so the sound was mixed together and didn’t make much sense.

He’d tried to focus on the noise, tried to make sense of what was being said, but before he really had the chance to do so he’d heard someone come over, felt them set something heavy next to him. At first he'd though it was another battery pack – another form of torture to subject him to while he was laid up, and he’d fought every instinct that was screaming at him to get away, give up this feigned unconsciousness because if he did then it meant they’d start again. But then there was movement, and a weight settling between his legs - a wet nose and hairy snout burrowing beneath his hand.

He’d realised the tongue lapping at his wrist must belong to his boy, but still he didn’t move. He didn’t know where he was, or how Cerberus had gotten there, but figured if he was with him then he was probably safe. And probably with his brothers. Unable to move because of the pain racing through him and not quite ready to show them he was awake, Brock had drifted – the warmth of his boy beneath his palm, the haze of pain and what he realised were drugs carrying him for who knew how long. Eventually his hearing had returned, his pain had started to come under control, and he kind of felt like a human being again.

There had been comfort in his brothers’ presence, hearing them all chattering away and knowing they were with him, guarding him, but eventually they’d become too noisy that he couldn’t get back to sleep. So, he figured, if you can’t beat them - join them.

“A while?” Ray repeated, looking confused. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?

“Cause I didn’t need the smother hen brigade swooping on me straight away,” he replied, throat no longer filled with sandpaper. He also went to roll his eyes, but thought twice about it when there was a dull throb somewhere in his head. “Just needed some time to get my bearings.”

He looked at them all, noted that aside from the bruises and mostly healed cuts, they all looked no worse for wear. Considering what they’d been through he was surprised that the damage hadn’t been worse. Spenser was a different story, he knew, but he'd talk with him in private later. “So,” he was more than ready to get this conversation over and done with. If he didn’t, he’d be in a world of hurt later on, and he was already suffering physically – he didn’t need to suffer mentally from their lectures as well. “I suppose we should address the elephant in the – Kitster!” It was then that he registered the non-Bravo member at the foot of his bed.

“How very rude of you!” Kit said indignantly while the others laughed. “I am not that big, thank you very much!”

“I thought you were sleeping away the days in the Philippines,” he replied. “Flynn had enough of your freeloading and sent your sorry ass stateside, did he?”

“This freeloading ass worked hard, thank you very much,” Kit retorted, grinning widely. Brock winced internally at the relief in his friend's eyes – knowing he was once again the cause for it. “Unlike some, Delta doesn’t get the Philippine Gucci missions; we actually have to work.” The SEAL snickered when more than one person expressed their displeasure at that remark. “But that’s neither here nor there, my Floret. You should know that Delta's already got a punishment sorted out for you, seeing as you disobeyed Flynn’s orders and got yourself hurt.”

Oh _hell no_. “Okay one, Flynn offered a suggestion. Didn’t order me so I didn’t have to listen,” he countered smoothly, ignoring the nickname. Arguing with everyone had proven to be a lost cause by this point in his life. “Two, it's not like I deliberately got myself injured to spite anyone.” He looked at his brothers when a thought hit him – and not in a good way. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but you still got hurt,” Jason said, looking unbothered and Brock couldn’t help it. He whined. “Sorry buttercup, but you’ll take what Delta has planned, then you’ll suffer through Bravo's punishment.” Bravo 1 turned to Clay and smirked. “Both of you will.”

“Oh c’mon!” Clay sulked, smacking away Sonny's hand when he ruffled his hair. “It wasn’t our fault!”

A somewhat healthy mix of pain killers and horror was swirling so rapidly through his veins that his indignation at dual punishments came out a bit more vocally than he intended. “Besides,” he added, ignoring how petulant he sounded. He'd be embarrassed, but he had every right to sound like that – he was injured, damn it! “It’s not our fault we’re youngin’s stuck on a team of crotchety old men!”

He... may have also been a bit too drugged up to watch what came out of his mouth. Wow.

“Yeah!” Clay squawked, evidently whole-heartedly agreeing with his complaints, glaring at said old men while ignoring the spluttering noises they were all making – the wheezing heap of Delta 5 at the end of the bed going overlooked for the time being. “We were fine for _hours_ before we got hurt! Maybe you should’ve postponed your game of bingo at the retirement home and rolled your wheelchairs out the door to, I dunno, pick us up!”

Despite knowing it was going to hurt, Brock laughed. He couldn’t help it, but by god did he laugh. He moaned in pain too, which had Cerberus snuggling closer to comfort him, but the looks of varying annoyance was priceless. Clay was grinning, looking unbelievably smug, and Brock managed to lift a fist without groaning too much, which Clay bumped gently.

“Assholes the pair of you!” Sonny snarled, shaking his fist at them. “I told you we should’ve left them there Jase!”

“Naw, Brock. Would you look at that?” Clay sniggered. “He's crotchety old man yelling. He's shaking his fist and everything!”

“Why I outta -” Brock quipped in the fakest old persons voice he could manage, which had both Clay and Kit roaring with laughter, and the others not far off either.

“For being in a sick man's room, there’s a hell of a lot of laughter in here.”

Brock looked over, grimacing at the movement before grinning at the coffee-bearing Lisa Davis. “Hiya Lisa,” he said, “Clay and I are just lamenting the fact we’re stuck on a team of senior citizens.”

Davis ugly snorted, and managed to not drop her coffee. “For someone who’s only just woken, you certainly are chipper,” she replied, coming to a standstill at the end of the bed and patting his foot carefully. Prepared for the touch, it didn’t hurt all that much. “Must be feeling alright if you’re already taking the shit out of this lot.”

“Drugs,” he replied, grinning slightly. “Pretty certain I still have a loooooot of drugs in my system.”

Trent snorted indelicately.

“Explains all this chattiness,” Sonny grumbled, “pain meds done hit your talking button, huh?”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to say much to get my point across,” he drawled, ignoring the jeers his brothers made while trying to blink away the fuzziness that everything had suddenly become. Man, these drugs were really doing a number on him.

As soon as the energy had come to talk to his brothers, he could feel it dissipating again – and he blinked heavily, fighting to keep his eyes open. Wowzers, it was _really_ doing a number on him.

He didn’t want to fall asleep, though – he wanted to know what had happened.

“Hey.” He looked at Trent, found his friend smiling slightly, his expression one of understanding. “Don’t fight it. You're home and you’re safe, let your body recover the way it needs too.”

“’m not tired,” he replied, frowning slightly when his voice sounded far away. “I -”

“Sure you’re not,” Trent continued, sounding so quiet it was almost impossible to hear him. “Sleep, Brock. We're not going anywhere.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t - the darkness rolling back in and carrying him away once again.

Shaking his head, Trent tucked the morphine button away and gave Brock’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning to the others. “I’m genuinely surprised he was conscious for so long,” he told them. “He's on some pretty strong painkillers so I’d only expected a minute or so, at most.”

“Soooo… you drugged him why?” Ray asked, looking confused.

“He needs rest, and sleep,” he replied, trying not to let his exasperation bleed through. They’d all been through this song and dance plenty of times before – not just with Brock in hospital, but all of them – so why Ray had to ask, he had no idea. “But he's an overachiever when it comes to his recovery, so he'll push himself before he's ready and that will only cause him more pain.”

“Well I for one thank you,” Sonny drawled, his blasé tone at odds with the lightness in his posture. Now that they knew Brock was okay, the Texan would finally relax. “Being shit talked by a sick man can wound a pride you know.”

“Well it’s a good thing you don’t have one then,” Jason replied, deadpan. He pulled out his phone and started tapping away. “After the last time, I saved our watch roster – figured it'd come in handy again at some point for someone. Anyone need changes made to their timetable, or are we happy with how it is?”

“That’s kinda tragic,” Clay snorted. He couldn’t outright say it was stupid, being wheelchair bound and all that, because Jason had probably been using a version of it already since he and Brock had been rescued. “I’m good.”

“You’re still admitted, Blondzilla,” Sonny pointed out, patting his shoulder in what was probably supposed to be consolation, but Trent decided looked far too heavy handed to be the case. “You don’t get to be on the roster. I’m good too, Jase.”

“Your point is?” Clay retorted. “I’m wheelchair bound, not brain dead. I can help.”

“You guys have a roster?” Kit asked, grinning widely. “That’s brilliant.”

Jason rolled his eyes, and Trent didn’t envy his position dealing with wayward SEALS. “I know if I say no you’ll do it anyway Clay, so that’s fine. And yes Kit, we have a roster; Davis drew it up when Brock and Metal got admitted after Venezuela. It worked well for us, and if it ain’t broke…”

“Well you lot are hopeless without structure in your lives, hence the need for it,” Lisa replied, looking at them knowingly. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you Lisa,” Bravo chorused. Lisa just rolled her eyes.

Jason slid his phone into his pocket just as everyone else’s chimed. “Seeing as Vic is rolling with Foxtrot permanently, I’ve put Kit in his spot. Kit, if you have any issues with your shifts, let me know.”

“A’ight,” Kit replied, pulling his phone out to have a look. “Who’s got first shift?”

“Ray does,” Sonny said, not even bothering to look at his phone. “But I ain’t leaving here without finishing this poker match – I was cleaning house and I refuse to lose my bag of skittles to the likes of you lot!”

* * *

Over the next few days, Brock was in and out of consciousness – each time a little bit longer, and with a little less pain etched into his features. Bravo rotated through as per their roster, and much to their relief each time they saw him, he looked better; less pained, colour returning – Doc had assured them that he was passing his tests with flying colours. He was moving better, breathing easier… which meant they did too.

It was pitch black when Brock woke; the lights were off in his room, save for the odd LED light on the monitoring equipment, and the blinds were pulled to ensure maximum darkness. He was still drowsy, teetering on that fine line of sleep and awareness, and tried to work out what had woken him in the first place – there was no light, and no movement that he could hear, so...

A slight shift of his leg revealed the cause immediately. Cerberus wasn’t on the bed. 

The pup's absence wasn’t entirely unusual as Clay had been caring for Cerberus of an evening since being discharged a couple of days prior, so he’d already gotten over the strangeness of not having his dog beside him. Tonight was supposed to be different though, because Clay had left Cerb at the hospital as Rebecca was finally coming to see him. The room did feel a bit warm, so perhaps –

He froze when he heard Cerberus panting – it wasn’t his ‘I’m hot’ pant, it was his ‘I’m getting belly rubs and I love it’ pant.

He wasn’t alone.

Turning to the sound, he narrowed his eyes at the silhouette sitting beside his bed. “Who are you?” he growled, more than a little concerned that Cerberus hadn’t alerted him to an intruder. He'd specifically told the others to go home for the evening, that he was finally out of the woods and due to be discharged in a day or so, so he didn’t need someone watching over him. His parents had come by to see him, but they’d left a few hours ago too.

Which meant that whoever was in his room, it wasn’t anyone he knew.

The light beside the chair clicked on, and he gasped quietly, struggling upright with only a small amount of pain – a far cry from where he’d been a few days ago. “Roxy?!”

His friend smirked at him, or at least he thought that was what she was doing – her face was buried in Cerberus’ fur so only her eyes were visible. “Hey Broccoli.”

The fur and poor lighting wasn’t enough to hide the black and blue decorations on the right side of her face, nor the grazes smattered along her cheek. “What the hell happened?” he asked worriedly. “That shiner is huge!”

She sighed and lifted her head away from Cerb’s neck, and he gaped wordlessly. Roxy's face was covered in bruises, but the tennis ball sized one around her eye was the worst of it. Her left eyebrow had a cut through it that was secured by a butterfly strip, and a quick glance at her neck and hands revealed similar damage, along with dried blood and scrapes. “Who the hell picked a fight with you?” he muttered. Leaning over, he tipped her face up with a finger under her chin and looked his fill - knowing full-well that the rest of her was probably just as battered. Despite the damage, she looked as beautiful as he remembered. “Was he breathing after you finished with him?” 

“A group of idiots who decided to try their luck,” she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. She gave his wrist a gentle squeeze before nudging his hand away from her face. “They won’t be making the same mistake again, that’s for sure.”

“Won’t, or can’t?”

Roxy just winked at him. He sighed, knowing there was no point pushing for information, just like he knew there were probably a few less people in the world because of her. “When did you get here?” he asked instead, frowning slightly as he thought back to his last conversation with her. “I thought you were overseas.” 

“I was,” she said, burying her fingers in Cerberus’ fur and scratching the wiggling malagator to appease him. Thanks to the armchair she was in, his boy was sprawled in her lap, paws in the air, face resting on her shoulder and loving the attention he was being given from his favourite aunt. “I landed an hour ago and got Kit's message you were in hospital _yet again_ , so I decided to leave my debrief until tomorrow and came here instead. I called him to tell him I was coming over, and he said you were by yourself tonight which meant I didn’t have to get him to clear the room for me.” 

He didn’t know what she did for work, but that meant no one else did, either. In fact, if his suspicions were correct then hardly anyone knew she even existed; her family, Kit, and him the only ones. Plus whoever she worked for. He'd long suspected she worked for the CIA as one of their deep cover spies, but as he couldn’t ask he had never known for sure.

Still. Whatever her role was, he was just grateful to have her in his life.

“You were right,” he told her, smiling slightly when she hummed questioningly. “About Rojas.”

The look on her face quickly turned to one of understanding. “I’m glad,” she replied. “Another scumbag permanently off the street.”

Brock looked at her, perturbed. “I never said he was dead,” he said slowly, somewhat off put by the fact she knew things she shouldn’t have; especially when Jason had indicated the information was being kept quiet for the time being. “I just said you were right about him.”

“Don’t panic Brock, I won’t go publishing it in ‘Military Now,’.” She rubbed a hand over her eyes, and sighed heavily. It was then that Brock realised how exhausted she looked. “I’m just glad you’re okay; your injuries could have been so much worse.”

“I know,” he replied, leaning over and taking her hand in his. “But I’m okay. You, on the other hand, look beat. You should go home, get some sleep.”

Roxy smothered a yawn behind her hand even as she shook her head, which made him tut in exasperation. “I’m fine for an hour or so,” she said, tangling their fingers together. “I want you to tell me what happened.”

“It can wait -”

“It really can’t,” Roxy interrupted, an intensity in her eyes that confused him. “Brock, I need you to tell me everything that happened.”

He frowned, while she looked at him patiently. “Is this cause you work for the CIA and are going to be looking into it?”

Roxy huffed a laugh. “Something like that. C’mon, tell me a story.”

“Okay.” Brock settled into his pillows and thought back to the start of the mission. “We went to the hotel where Rojas was supposed to show for the meet.”

* * *

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

“More than fucking ready,” Brock said, taking his bag off the chair and grinning at Kit. “I can’t wait to have my own bed again.”

“Y’know, if you asked I’m sure Doc would be happy to get a Brock-approved mattress for you,” Kit said holding the door open and following him into the corridor where the rest of Bravo waited for them. “You’re in here often enough, he’ll probably see it as a worthy investment.”

“Shuddup,” he muttered, bumping fists with the others and missing the sly looks Jason, Ray, Trent, Sonny and Kit suddenly sported while he crouched down to say hello to his boy. “I’m not here _that_ often.”

“Apparently our admission charts say otherwise,” Clay muttered mulishly as he handed Cerb’s lead over. “Doc showed Blackburn the charts, said we were using more than our fair share of tax payer money, or something.”

“That’s right,” Jason said, slinging an arm around both of their shoulders, jostling them slightly as they headed down the hall. “I think you two are on track for the highest number of admits per enlistment. Probably a record you want to rethink.”

“Do we get a medal at the end?” Clay asked, laughing in Jason’s face when Bravo 1 tugged his ear sharply. “I think we should.”

“Agreed.” He extended the hand not holding Cerb’s lead, and Clay bumped it. Jason did not look amused.

“How are you feeling?” Trent asked, sidling up to Brock and looking him over for any signs of discomfort as they walked. “Any lingering pain? Twinges?”

“I’m fine, T,” he said. “Doc’s given me some stuff if I need it, but I feel good.”

Trent nodded, and pushed the main doors of the hospital open. “Good,” he said, and Brock was too busy inhaling the fresh air to notice the suppressed smile on his best friend’s face.

“C’mon Brock, I’m dropping you home!” Clay said, tugging him down the steps. He followed suit, but they only got two down before grunting when they were tugged backwards. “What the – HEY!” Clay shrieked when he looked behind him. “Are you serious?!”

Brock turned around, and gaped wordlessly. Jason and Sonny were standing there holding two brightly coloured leashes that, upon closer inspection, were clipped into the belt loops of their pants. Kit was behind them, phone out while trying not to lose his shit, and Trent was blatantly grinning.

“Oh c’mon Jase!” He groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“The last time you two were allowed out in the big wide world together, you got taken – as your team leader, I’m not prepared to run that risk again,” Jason replied, smirking down at them while sliding his hand through the loop.

“We’re going to the carpark!” Clay said, sounding indignant. “The hell could go wrong?!”

“You really want a list?” Sonny asked.

“Alright you two,” Jason said, shaking the lead slightly. “Off you trot.”

“Fuck all y’all,” Clay snarled, stomping down the stairs, growling as Sonny trailed behind with a taught lead and mocking encouragements.

Brock shook his head in defeat, and followed – pausing when a thought hit him. Smirking, he turned back to the others who were still behind him. “Hey Jase?”

Jason looked at him warily. “Yeah?”

“Just a friendly reminder – payback is a bitch.”


	9. Epilogue: The Cabin In The Woods

**_Somewhere along the Russian – Ukraine border_ **

The door to the main house swung open, and silence fell. All eyes were on him – watching, waiting for him to speak.

“Welcome brothers, sisters. You have waited patiently for this day, and I am pleased to say it’s finally here.”

There were soft murmurs, whispers of joy, but they died down quickly as he made his way over to the sitting room.

The log cabin that he’d… acquired recently had been perfect – large open areas, enough furnishings to feel full without feeling cluttered, and plenty of space to set up a base of operations. The previous owners, whose bodies were probably nothing more than the scraps of the local wildlife by now would’ve been mortified to see their beloved cabin used as a pin board for a map of the wold.

But luckily for them, they no longer needed it.

Coming to a standstill in front of the map, he ran his eyes over the areas that their next phase would incorporate; Russia, China, England, Australia, Germany, India, Brazil and of course, the United States.

He turned back to his generals, his most trusted followers, and smiled.

“We have shown the world what we are capable of; moving like quick acting poison that no-one knows, or can identify – and Tenerife was merely a taste of what is to come.

“This planet needs us, my friends – and we will answer its call.”


End file.
